


Split

by spellwing777



Series: Split [1]
Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Science, But thats kind of a given with superhero comics, Literal split-personality, M/M, Multi, Self-cest, The usual cannon ouchies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 57,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellwing777/pseuds/spellwing777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, now I have to feed <b>two</b> of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Twice the temperamental partner to feed

_God, now I have to feed **two** of them._

Daniel looked down at the two prone forms on Archie’s floor, and wondered what the hell he was going to do with them. Dr Manhattan had told him that he should be fine-no _permanent_ damage-and as soon as he had a way to fix this situation, he would contact Daniel. 

In the meantime he was stuck with Rorschach and...whoever the other guy was.

The Doctor’s experiments that had caused this mess where on the nature of the human mind. Granted, his usual work was more physics and molecular based, but he supposed Jon was entitled to trying something different. Though he supposed that trying to cure schizophrenia by finding a way of removing the alternative personality _and creating a whole other person_ was definitely in the range of weird fringe science that the blue demigod occupied. Though what possessed him to test it on Rorschach boggled the mind. They’d been talking to Laurie about getting her and Jon’s help on the docks, with the Doctor paying barely any attention. Dr Manhattan had just stared contemplatively at Rorschach through the entire conversation, before he’d interrupted, asking his partner if he could assist him in his work. He didn’t even get the chance to answer before a wash of white light had left them all blinking, staring at _two_ men lying on the floor. One of them very obviously Rorschach...

...and the other very, _very_ naked.

After the shouting and confusion had calmed down, he did explain. It did little to sooth either him or Laurie, especially him, but he did calm down. He was grateful to Laurie, who’d found a thick blanket to wrap the naked man in, and had even helped to load him into the ship. She’d sighed, wished him luck, and turned back to yell at her boyfriend; and the pure anger in her voice as he was lifting off both made him feel better and cringe. Laurie had one hell of a sharp tongue.  
Archie settled into its cradle, and he carried them up to the guest room. He was grateful that they were still out cold, because he’d had to tug on some sweatpants on the naked one. It had been...awkward. Dressing an unconscious person was a lot harder than he expected; and the knowledge of who this person likely was...well, it made it difficult for him not to stare at the bare face and memorize it. 

_I wish I had a name to go with this face,_ He thought wistfully. The knowledge that there was a rawboned, sharp-featured, flesh-and-blood person under that mask just wasn’t complete without it.

...Or at least he assumed that this little freckled ginger was Rorschach’s daytime identity. The explanation Dr Manhattan had given about the equipment tearing multiple personalities from the patient’s mind and giving them a body had been a little _vague_. What he’d seen of the man’s red stubble on his jaw while drinking his coffee, and pale freckled skin while patching wounds matched what he could see here-

_Wait..._ He frowned, looking closer. _He’s missing his scar._

The small, white stripe on his chin was missing. So was the knife wound on his shoulder, and quite a few others. Other, older scars where there; but all the ones he’d had to suture up or gotten on patrols were missing. He was feeling _really_ confused now, looking down at the chin that was so familiar except for the missing scar.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the eyes opened inches from his face.

_Hey, his eyes are b-_

“Daniel.” The man grunted. “...Where are my clothes.”

He worked his mouth for a moment, opening and closing like a landed fish. “...He’s wearing them.”

The man blinked, and looked at the prone form lying next to him in the guest room.

“...Who.” He said slowly. “Is that.”

“I...assume he’s Rorschach.” Daniel swallowed. “And I’d really like to know who _you_ are.”

Those unfamiliar eyes narrowed, and he didn’t even have to say it. The message of _’explain, Daniel’_ was perfectly clear. He stumbled over what Dr Manhattan had told him, hoping it made any amount of sense, and he shuffled nervously while he mulled it over.

“...Sounds ridiculous.” He said finally. “Probably true.”

He jerked his head back up to look at Daniel. “You were unaffected?”

“No, no I’m fine. He just targeted you.” He smiled a little. “No extra guy in an owl suit running around, thank god.”

“Hrrm. Good. Need one of us whole until this is...fixed.” He frowned, brow creasing, and Daniel was really confused-this guy was acting just like his partner. He even made the low humming noises when he was thinking deeply on something. He spoke up, breaking off Daniel’s train of thought.

“You should probably leave the room before...he wakes, Daniel.” He said. “I-He...he might be hostile.”

“...Right. Um.” He shuffled out. “I’ll just make you guys something to eat then.” Daniel paused briefly. “I still don’t know what to call you-”

“Walter.” He muttered.

\---

Daniel’s steps retreated down the hall, and Walter waited until he was sure they were gone before reaching over to the sleeping form next to him. His hand hesitated, before reaching down to inch the mask up. Throat, jaw, nose...all the correct color, right shape. He briefly thumbed the scar on the chin, then moved to inch the mask further up-

A gloved hand ground the bones in his wrist together, and the revealed mouth was twisted into a snarl. He didn’t resist when he was thrown to the floor and straddled, knowing what would happen. Just as he predicted, his mirror froze, staring down at him.

“...How.”

The voice made him shudder, cold working down his spine at the _wrongness_ of it. It was a voice that had come from his throat night after night; all gravel and smoke, and now it was coming from someone else’s mouth.

“Dr Manhattan.” He muttered, only two words. His brain was still trying to comprehend the idea of his vigilante persona suddenly being a separate entity completely.

“Explain.” He snarled.

“He split us.” He struggled for words. “Some kind of experiment; meant to treat multiple personality disorder by giving the personalities a separate body.”

“...Sounds ridiculous.” He said finally. “Probably true.”

Walter twitched.

“Daniel-”

“He was unaffected.” He interrupted. “We-I...was the only one targeted.”

They stared at each other for a long while, until Walter opened his mouth to ask to be let up. Rorschach was already moving however; standing up, then holding out a hand to help him up. Almost simultaneously they reached up to touch their own chin, hands jerking away when they saw the other was mirroring it.

“Missing a scar.” Rorschach grunted. “On your chin.”

Walter blinked. “Split chin on-”

“-Cinderblock corner. Pursuing criminal-”

“-On an icy January night.” He nodded. “At least I retain the memory of it, if not the scar.”

“Hm.” He examined Walter’s exposed chest, which was missing so many other scars. “Wasn’t Walter when we got them. I-we-were Rorschach. Makes sense I should have them, not you.”

Walter ran his hand over his chest, noting the old cigarette burn marks were still there. The memory of the cinderblock hitting his face was cold, clinical; a snapshot of pictures in his mind with no accompanying emotion. The burns were vivid in his mind though; the memory of fear and pain still fresh. He looked up at Rorschach, and he remained silent, pointedly not commenting.

“Soup’s ready!” Daniel yelled up the stairs.

“He’s taking it well.” Rorschach muttered.

“At least one of us is.” Walter deadpanned. Rorschach huffed a short laugh at the small joke-the humor that would have gone unnoticed in other people and only noticed by him-and it made them both twitch.


	2. Chapter 2

Daniel turned at the sound of two steps descending the stairs. They- _and god, that was going to take some time getting used too_ -filed into the kitchen, silent as his partner usually was. They almost ran into each other trying to take his partner’s usual seat by the basement door, and he had to purse his lips to keep from laughing. They faced off for a moment, and he half-wondered if they’d fight over it. He hoped not; he had no idea whose side he’d take if they started.

He averted the situation by yanking out an extra chair and putting it on the same side. Their elbows bumped into each other, but they didn’t seem to care. Usually, his partner hated having his personal space invaded, but he supposed they rationalized it that their personal bubble wasn’t being invaded if...you were doing it? 

_There is just so much insane logic in this whole thing._ He mused, sitting across from the wonder twins, swallowing the tomato soup. He tried not to stare, but failed miserably at it. He watched, fascinated, as Rorschach reached for the pepper, sprinkled it onto his own soup, and then casually sprinkled some on Walter’s too. It was one of the most bizarre, endearing things he’d seen. 

“So...you want some grilled cheese sandwiches to go with it? Soup is spread pretty thin between three people, and I’m still hungry.”

“Yes.” Rorschach said immediately, surprising him. It usually took more coaxing to get food into him.

“Should be going.” Walter muttered.

_Aha, so **you’re** the reluctant one._ A corner of his mouth twitched, threatening to turn into a smile. “Sure?”

Rorschach looked at Walter too. “Hrm. Hungry. You must be too.”

“I have to go; get ready-”

“Work not for five hours.” Rorschach protested. 

“We’re imposing.” Walter insisted.

“He offered.” Rorschach snapped back.

Daniel’s followed the argument back and forth like a dog at a tennis match. _Is this the argument that goes on in his head whenever I try to offer him extra food or any other kind of hospitality?_ He almost spoke to try to diffuse the argument, but decided not to. It was just too damn weird, the whole situation. 

...Besides, this was kind of fun to watch.

“You shouldn’t be so greedy; stealing his food is bad enough.”

“Has repeatedly offered hospitality. Said ‘take what you need’.” 

“We don’t need a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Still hungry.”

“We have food at home.”

“Saltines not food. Need more nutrition than that. Need to keep body in condition, not indulge your sense of propriety.”

Daniel choked on his laughter, and they both jerked to look at him. He froze under their stare for a moment, before he broke out in barely restrained giggles.

“Oh good lord, I’m just gonna make the damn sandwiches anyway. You take them with you, or whatever.” He managed not to laugh at the look on Walter’s face by the skin of his teeth. “Just take them, alright? I appreciate you not wanting to take advantage of my good will, but I really do want to share a good grill cheese with...both of you. It’s just a waste of the griddle to make one.”

He dragged out the electric griddle, and started on it. He added extra cheese on both other their sandwiches, like usual, and had to kill his laughter at feeling like some Mom making her kids their school lunches. He could feel their eyes on his back while he made them, and finally he turned around.

“Sorry for laughing.” He wasn’t really sorry, but they didn’t need to know. “But this has been one hell of a weird night.”

Rorschach huffed, not mollified; and suspicious. Walter seemed to accept his apology completely.

“The food is appreciated, Daniel.” He said. 

_He’s so...polite._ He smiled, felling bemused. “You’re welcome.”

At last he saw them out the tunnel exit, one bagged sandwich in Walter’s hand; the other clenched in Rorschach’s fist and disappearing in big gulps. He had to restrain another hysterical giggle- _You two boys have a nice day at school, and no fighting with your brother, you here?_ -and briefly wondered if he was going to start wearing curlers in his hair and a flowered nightgown.

...and also briefly wondered if he should replace Archie’s coffee machine with decaf. He needed sleep, or he was going to roll on the floor giggling hysterically.

\---

They had to split up, despite both of their misgivings about it. It was bad enough to have half of himself torn off and walking around on its own, but it felt worse when they lost sight of each other. It felt...wrong, to be apart.

_And it is._ Walter thought, body swaying slightly in tune to the subway’s movement. His other half was taking tunnels and back alleys; a treacherous and twisting route home to shake off any potential tails. Walter had almost done the same thing, a force of habit; but he’d stopped at the mouth of an alley, feeling a strange sense of dissonance. He’d stared at it for a while, before walking down to the subway station. He wasn’t Rorschach; he didn’t skulk in alleys. Still, it didn’t feel any more appropriate to just take the subway home.

He came home before his other half, and stripped down to get into bed. He didn’t get in, though; just sat on the edge. He felt tense, anxiety crawling over his skin; and he didn’t feel like he’d be able to rest without his other half here. He twiddled his thumbs for close to an hour, until the scrabbling at his window snapped his head back up.

He was still dressed in uniform, and Walter eyed him, frowning.

“Didn’t want to remove uniform.”

“Dangerous.”

His other half paused. “Feels...wrong.”

Walter sighed, remembering his pause at the alleyway. “Know what you mean.”

Rorschach paced a little, jittery still; and rucked the mask up over his nose but no further. He stared at the exposed skin out the corner of his eye, and suddenly wondered what was under the mask now. Rorschach was supposed to be an ideal; justice and morels personified. He’d made this mask to hide his humanity. When patrolling he was not human; he was more than human.

He had a sudden vision of the mask going up all the way and their being another one under it; black and white designs shifting on skin instead of latex, and he shuddered.

Rorschach grunted, going to remove it.

Walter leaned away slightly. “..You can keep it on.”

He cocked his head, and dropped his hand. 

“Dangerous.” He echoed.

“Then keep watch.” He said, annoyed. “Only two hours until I have to leave for work. You can have the place to yourself once I leave.”

“Have no intention of just lazing here while you work.”

“You need the sleep. I- _you_ -need to be rested for patrol.”

Rorschach jerked his head up. “...Not coming?”

Walter frowned, troubled. He still felt a habitual jerk to put on the mask and head out to Daniel’s, but he didn’t skulk in alleyways or beat up criminals; that was Rorschach’s task. 

“Not...my role. Yours.” He said. “I work during the day, you at night. As always.”

His vigilante persona hesitated briefly. “Split could...work to our benefit.”

Walter mulled it over. It could be an advantage; without the need to snatch a few hours of sleep before patrol, he could take extra hours at work. He could earn enough to maybe find a better apartment, afford enough food so he wouldn’t have to steal from Daniel. Hell, with the extra time he could even look for a better job; one that paid more and where he didn’t have to work with women’s garments. 

Without the need to work in the morning, Rorschach could extend his patrol for a few extra hours. He could sleep a full eight hours during the day _at last_ and be more awake and alert than he had been in years. 

They were silent for a moment before nodding simultaneously. It didn’t make them cringe this time; they were quickly getting used to it. He had always been adaptable; being split into two bodies wouldn’t change that.

“Should rest.” Rorschach said. “Will keep watch for now.”

Walter didn’t object. He curled onto the creaking mattress, while his other half settled himself into a chair up against the door. Walter fell into a light doze, shifting ink watching him.


	3. Chapter 3

Motown was playing in the background.

Rorschach stared up at him from the floor of Archie, and he stared back at the shifting blots. He couldn’t help but wonder what was under the mask now; when all the humanity was in a different body, and the persona in a body of its own. Maybe there was a face under it; rugged and ordinary. Maybe there was another mask; ink shifting over skin and empty eye sockets.

Maybe there was nothing at all.

“...What’s under there, now?” He asks, not really thinking of the consequences of asking.

“Find out for yourself.” He grated.

Daniel reached out. He didn’t move as he pulled on the tie of the trench coat. The layers keep coming and coming- _trench coat, suit jacket, vest, shirt_ -like the petals of an onion; clothes rustling like paper, like corn husks, like spent cicada shells. The mask went last, falling to the floor and crumpling in on itself.

Underneath is pure black; as dark as the emptiness behind the stars. It’s wrong. He can feel it in the back of his eyeballs. When he reaches for it, his hand plunges in up to the elbow, to the shoulder, his neck; because nothingness is hungry, and when it eats all of him there will be nothing left of him. There will be nothing left.

_Nothing from nothing leaves nothing._ *

\---

When Daniel came spluttering back from unconsciousness, he first felt cold- _and he would be, because empty space **is** cold_ -the second emotion he felt was terrified because there was shifting black ink inches from his face.

“GAH!” He thumped into the headboard; the pain jolting him fully out of sleep and into reality.

“Rorschach, what the fuck?” He gasped out, trying to tug the sheets back onto him, realizing he’d kicked them off sometime in his sleep and that was the reason he was cold; _not_ because he’d just been eaten by a Rorschach-shaped black hole.

“Heard noises.” He said. “You were having a nightmare. Thought I should wake you.”

“Th-thanks.” He stuttered, starting to get his breath back. “Uh...do me a favor?”

Rorschach cocked his head slightly.

“Could you...pull up the mask? A little?”

He shrugged and did pull it up, not just up and over his nose, but all the way off. The face staring back at him was subtly different from Walter’s; he had a few nicks and scars on his face that his other half was missing, and he looked...sharper. He looked more angular somehow; but otherwise human. He was just a jug-eared, homely, freckled red-head.

Daniel blinked at the sight, feeling a sense of dissonance at how...normal looking the guy was. “You...didn’t have to pull the mask off. Uh, thanks though.” 

Rorschach shrugged again. “Have seen Walter already. Pointless to try to maintain anonymity.”

He huffed out a relived breath. “God, these fucking _dreams_ -”

He made an inquisitive noise; and while the face was perfectly flat with no expression, Daniel had always read his body language and he could tell that he was curious.

“I, uh...well, I guess my subconscious decided to speculate on what’s under your mask.”

“Hrrm. And what did you see?”

“Nothing.” He shuddered, and started to work his way out of bed, ignoring the confusion being telegraphed in Rorschach’s stance. The sooner he could get away from any lingering creepiness of that dream, the better.

\---

Rorschach practically bounced on the balls of his feet. He hadn’t felt this energized in years after a full eight hours of sleep; and then some, because he felt no shame at ‘indulging’ himself. Why should he? His body was still healing from old wounds and it had been deprived of sufficient sleep for years; keeping himself from getting as much sleep as he needed was a harmful masochistic streak that had no place in Rorschach’s practicality. 

He loped like a feral dog through the streets, feeling unburdened and wild in the hot August night; and Nite Owl seemed to reflect it, a sleek nocturnal predator himself. His partner’s smile was like a moonlight sickle; bright and wide. His was under latex, but just as wide. He had a feeling that Nite Owl could see it in the wrinkles in the latex anyway, but that didn’t stop him from grinning. 

“Damn.” Nite Owl laughed, stripping off the costume, unashamed as always about changing in plain view in the safety of the owl’s nest. “You were in fine form tonight. That’s six to my four!”  
He took the compliment in stride; no ‘just performing duty’ on his tongue. He _was_ good; why downplay the truth? He didn’t feel-

He didn’t feel...

_Shame_.

He sucked a breath from his nose when Daniel shimmied out of his spandex bottoms; and realized he hadn’t turned away or stalked upstairs or otherwise gave him privacy. He’d even tossed his trench coat and was working peeling off the latex of his face, wanting to get the uncomfortable thing off; not caring how Daniel might view his pasty skin or childish freckles. He didn’t...feel the need to cover the fact that he had a fallible human body from Daniel under all the layers and suddenly felt that he _should_ , he really should but-

He didn’t feel ashamed enough too.

Daniel looked up and did a double take. “Rorschach?”

He jerked up from staring at his shirt buttons, snapped out of his train of thought. Daniel was looking at him oddly; and yes, his behavior was strange but that wasn’t enough reason for his partner to look as uncomfortable as he was right now.

“Seen me before Daniel.” He said, annoyed.

“...Right.” He blinked rapidly. “Uh, do you want me to wash your uniform for you? While you’re here? Because I’m pretty sure criminals could smell you coming.”

He snorted. “Exaggerating Daniel.” He flung the shirt onto a nearby chair, and it landed with a very wet _slap_. 

“...That’s nasty.” He grimaced. “And you should probably drink a gallon of water; that thing is wet enough to wring.” 

“Will do so. Should wash shirt; need to keep knife wound clean. Have food?”

Daniel gave him another surprised look. “Uh...why?”

Rorschach gave him a sidelong look. “Hungry.”

“Er, right.” He flushed. “I’ve got some lasagna you can have.”

He grunted and jumped up the stairs to the fridge; snatching up the container he settled down to his meal. He crouched over the pasta like a dog over a bone, shoveling it into his mouth and unconcerned with manners. Daniel came up after tossing the shirt into the wash and hovered nearby, looking confused.

“...You want me to heat that up for you?”

“Fine like this.” 

Daniel just sighed and put a glass of water in front of him, and he sucked that down greedily. He motioned for another, and drank the second one more slowly, while Daniel puttered around the kitchen. His eating slowed too as he went back to puzzling over his strange lack of shame.

He’d always disliked his appearance; his blatant humanity. He’d made the mask because he didn’t want to be human, to be one of the people that watched a woman get raped and killed. He’d kept the mask on in front of Daniel because Rorschach was not a short, jug-eared and freckled redhead. But now that he and Walter were split he was fully Rorschach; and the body under the swirling inkblots was no taller, nor less freckled. Later, when Daniel coaxed him into using his shower he looked in the mirror, and realized that weather his reflection was black and white latex or red hair and pale skin, he would _still_ be Rorschach. 

He bared a yellow and lop-sided smile at the glass; feeling fierce and liberated, and resolved to not be ashamed to show his human face to Daniel. Shame was Walter’s realm, not his.

He turned at the sound of a knock on the door. “Hey buddy; do you want to take the rest of the lasagna with you? Thiers enough in here for Walter too.”

“ Yes.” He grunted. 

“Great!” He cocked his head at the overly enthusiastic tone in Daniel’s voice, and heard his feet retreat in a rush. Soon Daniel was back with both a container and his shirt, and he took both without comment, stepping out once he was fully dressed.

“Uh, speaking about Walter.” Daniel shuffled a bit. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Dividing our resources.” He explained. “Decided to sleep in shifts; able to get more rest and work longer hours.”

“Is that why you didn’t need any coffee tonight? You usually drain the pot.”

“No need for caffeine when rest is sufficient.”

“Oh, well that makes sense. How’s that working out for you? Er, both of you.”

“Unforeseen benefit to the Doctor’s meddling.” He admitted. “Ability to rest adequately without needing to expend energy on daytime appearance lends more energy to nighttime patrol.”

“I’ll say, those kids don’t know what hit them.” Daniel smiled down at him, before growing contemplative. “And...Walter? What about him?”

He tilted his head, a question in his body language. Daniel looked away.

“Just...wanted to know. How he’s doing.” He shrugged, apologetic. Always apologetic, even though he had no reason to be.

He stared at his partner for a moment. “Why?”

Daniel struggled to explain. “Because, I’m your partner and I’m supposed to watch your back; even if you now have two of them.”

“Walter is not your partner.” 

Daniel gave him a confused look. “But...he’s _you_. When I take off the costume and become Daniel I don’t stop being your partner.”

“Not the same.” He shouldered his way past, done with the conversation. Daniel wouldn’t understand. When he took off his costume, he was still Nite Owl. When he put it one, he was still Daniel. In or out costume, he wouldn’t stop being himself. 

“Just...tell him he’s welcome to stop by, okay?” Daniel told his retreating back. He ignored him. 

He wouldn’t comprehend that even before Manhattan had done this to him, they were already separate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream sequence is a blatant shout-out to the fic ‘nothing from nothing leaves nothing’ which is creepy as all get out.


	4. Chapter 4

Walter was already awake and getting ready for work when his other half returned; thankfully dressed in the civilian clothes he’d stashed in the alley for him. He jerked in surprise Rorschach shoved a Tupperware dish into his hands.

“Lasagna.” He said. Walter was not satisfied with the explanation.

“Don’t accept charity.” He snapped, annoyed. 

Rorschach bent his head to the faucet and sucked down water from the tap in loud slurps. Walter glared at him, but was ignored. He gave up and opened the container, feeling he may as well eat it; he didn’t have anything else for breakfast. He blinked at a foil wrapped package nestled next to the square chunk of pasta, and started to pick it open.

Rorschach shut the tap off and leaned against the sink, arms crossed. “Offered. Had no food in the fridge.”

He growled, irritated that Daniel had found a loophole in his usual flat-out refusal of his pathetic attempts at charity by giving it to his practical self; knowing he wouldn’t say no.   
He hated anything that resembled the pity in the faces of well-meaning volunteers on thanksgiving doling out processed turkey. Hated the patronizing look on people’s faces when he’d carried around UNICEF boxes on Halloween. He hated the self-congratulating people that threw their cast-off into donation boxes and called them Christmas presents. He had never gotten a toy on Christmas that was given specifically to him; a toy that someone had taken the time to notice what he liked and put the effort into giving something he would appreciate-

He finally undid the foil, and delicately picked up a familiar green square. Sweet chariot sugar cubes. He blinked at it, staring at the innocuous gift.

“Said you could come whenever you wanted.” Rorschach grunted, crawling into bed, rudely displacing him from his perch on the edge. 

Walter stared down at Rorschach for a moment, before unwrapping the cube and popping it into his mouth, rolling it around to coat his mouth.

\---

Jon didn’t actually need to blink, but it tended to unnerve people when he stared too long. He wasn’t human anymore, and he wasn’t always able to maintain a semi-normal semblance of behavior and appearance, but he did try. For instance, he blinked slowly when Laurie sucked in a breath after her tirade, adopting a look of gentle patience.

“Laurel, I cant.”

“Why _not_ Jon?”

“Because I do not re-unite them for another few weeks.” 

Daniel looked from one face-angry, puffing out clouds of smoke-to the other-serene, puffing out nothing even though his chest rose and fell in an imitation of breathing-and felt his own chest rise and fall. He breathed out a sigh, almost ready to concede defeat. Jon’s bizarre way of seeing the future as if it’s already happened, as if he was living it right now, often made his head hurt.

“Why did you split them in the first place?” He said, resigned to get another unfathomable answer.

Another slow blink.

“Because he needed my assistance.”

Dan looked helplessly at him, and Dr. Manhattan continued to talk, even though his audience was giving him an uncomprehending look.

“Walter’s vigilante persona is overtaking him.” He turned away, his gaze focusing on a new project, losing interest in the conversation at hand. “If he continued along the same path he was currently following, there would eventually be nothing left of Walter.” 

He ran a finger along the machine, separating in into individual parts and spreading the gears across the floor. The silence in the room was deep and unsettling, and after a while it became apparent that nothing else was forthcoming from Dr. Manhattan. Laurie escorted him out. 

Daniel and Laurie traded looks at the threshold; dark, worried looks. She looked away first, pulling her pipe and lighter out.

“...How is he doing?”

Daniel swallowed, knowing that she was asking about more than just the split. 

“He’s...adapted to it. One works during the day while the other sleeps; and then they switch. He even says it’s a little bit of an advantage...” He trailed off, silenced by her long, unblinking stare.

She sucked on the pipe, her chest rising as it filled with smoke, then falling as she breathed it out. He had nothing to say, and another silence fell and stretched, until she shifted and turned away from him.

“Take care Dan.” She said; a quiet dismissal in her voice, and walked back down the hall.

\---

Walter’s already dour mouth twisted into an even grimmer expression. He’d gotten annoyed at how Rorschach lounged in bed all day, sleeping up to ten hours; an indulgence that he didn’t need. Rorschach had growled back at him that he needed the sleep; not only did he get more physical exertion than Walter, he was still healing from his knife wound. The less he stressed the wound, the faster it would heal. 

_‘Refuse to indulge your masochistic streak.’_ He’d snapped. He’d snapped back that he could use his time more productively, and his vigilante side had propped himself up and glared at him.

_‘See no point in engaging in busywork to assuage you’re fear about becoming a soft degenerate.’_

He’d tried again to stir him, but that had just earned him a vicious kick to his hip. Walter had finally conceded defeat, and decided to get out of the apartment. Rorschach was perfectly at ease sleeping as much as he liked; but Walter had always been driven. 

He walked down the sidewalk, deciding that he would shove Daniel’s Tupperware dish through his mail slot on the way to the library. It was unlikely that his vigilante persona would return it. Daniel was likely still asleep, and he could avoid socializing with him while doing the small, necessary task of returning the piece of plastic that he’d been unwillingly gifted with. He didn’t want to meet him again; once was one time too many. 

It only took one bus to get there; his own ghetto neighborhood separated by a handful of streets from Daniel’s affluent one. It took two minutes of walking to get from the bus stop to the concrete steps of his partner’s home- _or was that Rorschach’s partner? The whole business with Jon had added a new level of bizarre to his life_ -and it took two steps to bring himself in front of the wooden door. 

He looked down at the plastic container, and he wasn’t sure if this was still a sound plan. The mail slot was smaller than he remembered; the container was larger than he had anticipated. He tried anyway, but he only managed to wedge a corner into the opening before it wouldn’t go any further; and he didn’t dare try shoving harder. It was made in Taiwan; and underpaid children in sweatshops were not known for making quality products. He stared at the container wedged into the brass opening, and wondered if he should just leave it there. He jerked when the container slid free and clattered to the cement.

The mail slot gleamed innocuously at him.

“...Walter?”

He didn’t jump. He didn’t. But he took entirely too long to turn around. 

Daniel looked vaguely puzzled, keys dangling in one hand, as he gazed at the unexpected sight of his partner’s daytime identity. Walter ignored the stare; just scooped up the container and walked over to him to press it into his hands. Neither of them said anything for a while.

Daniel opened his mouth, but Walter interrupted him. “Only returning your container.” He adjusted his coat, turning to leave. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Daniel suddenly jerked forward a half step. “Wait!”

He looked back, eyes narrowed. Daniel shuffled a little, eyes dipping toward the pavement. When he wasn’t in his spandex and leather, all of the confidence deserted him.

“Where are you heading? Mind if I...”

He grimaced, knowing what Daniel was asking.

Daniel knew his face, his name; there were too many boundaries crossed. How would he keep the respect and camaraderie of his partner if he socialized outside of his vigilante persona? If he knew him outside the brilliant investigative mind, the natural grace and violence and started to get to know Walter; the boy who grew up in a Home because he extinguished a cigarette in one boy’s eye and tried to bite the face off another, would he still rub shoulders in the solidarity of fellow vigilantes and partners...or would he turn away in disgust? Walter had no friends. Only Rorschach did. 

And now that he’d seen his face and knew his name, he just _knew_ that Daniel was no longer going to be satisfied with just Rorschach, he would dig and pry and dissect him; just like the white-coats with their soft words and sharp eyes in Charlton. The man knew his face and his name and now he would never be rid of him-

“If that’s...alright with you.” 

He snapped out of his mental rant to see the flushed cheeks and deep furrow between the brows of his partner’s face. Worried and insecure and _trying._ Trying so hard. He remembered his own-failed-attempts at garnering friends, and how pathetically eager he’d been then. He also remembers the numerous offers of coffee and food and spare clothes and-  
-and a foil-wrapped package of sugar cubes.

Years and years of partnership he had always offered, but never asked for more. He wasn’t asking, even now; because that face was practically expecting refusal. He could easily say ‘no’ and Daniel would slink into the brownstone, berating himself for asking the questions even though he knew that Walter would say no.

All of this filtered through his head in the space of a few seconds, a small epiphany; and he vaguely wondered at when he got to be so good at reading people. He knew that people tended to look to the side when they were lying and up when they didn’t know the truth; but he had never before read the potential for disappointment in a person’s face and seen the hurt that he could cause.

“...Going to the library.” He said, haltingly. “You can come with me.”

Daniel blinked in surprise, the look almost comical, before it broke out in a grin. “Oh, sure buddy! I’ll just...put this away.” He hastily unlocked the door and put the piece of Tupperware on the ledge next to the entryway; then locked it again and joined him in the walk to the library. 

When they arrived they decided to split up, Daniel wandering off to peruse the stacks while he used the library’s resources to type up the first resume he’d ever written. He had never made one before, since he had gone right into the garment industry from Charlton. He stared at the blank document until Daniel came back and asked what he was trying to do.

“...Resume.”

Daniel blinked, suddenly concerned. “You didn’t...lose your job, did you?”

_No business of yours._ He wanted to snap, but that previously undiscovered conscientious side of him spoke up, saying that Daniel was just acting like a friend should, not being invasive. He kept himself from growling. Barely.

“No.” He explained, flatly. “Looking for better job. I have the energy and time to search now.”

“Oh.” Daniel cocked his head, but didn’t ask any more questions. Eventually he left him to it, disappearing back into the shelves, only to reappear again with books titled ‘land your dream job!’ and other nonsense. He gave him begrudging ‘thank you’, and Daniel beamed so brightly at him he recoiled. 

His partner coughed a little, looking embarrassed, and turned to disappear back into the library. 

It took him a moment to realize the emotion gnawing at him was shame. He was too used to being pitied to see honest generosity when it was being presented; too used to snapping at people that tried to patronize him to react properly when faced with someone was sincerely trying to help him. 

He rubbed his temples in frustration. This was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to socialize with Daniel outside of his mask; even before the split. He could be a good partner and even a friend as Rorschach, with his investigative skills and his fighting ability to smooth over the lack of his capacity to navigate social niceties. The mask also helped cover up the face that was more used to scowling at people than smiling back, and looked like a troll doll. At least Daniel hadn’t been put off by his blatant ugliness, though he resolved to work on trying to at least smile at the man the next time he saw him.

He sighed and reached for the book.


	5. Chapter 5

An hour whiled away in the hazy warmth of late afternoon; dust motes dancing lazily in the golden bars of light angling over the desk. He finished the resume, and stared down at the neatly typed piece of paper that listed almost half of his life.

...And it was all of two paragraphs. 

He snorted. About the only thing impressive about it was the fact that he’d managed to keep the same job for so long; considering his difficult personality, it was a small miracle that he hadn’t been fired. He stood and gathered his things, and was at the door when he remembered he didn’t come alone.

He wasn’t sure where Daniel was; and was forced to hunt for him in the musty stacks and marble pillars. He finally found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, in a circle of discarded books, idly flipping through a Sherlock Holmes novel. Daniel was blithely occupied with his book, and didn’t notice him. He stopped, barely a foot away, and looked over the small stack next to him. A copy of Audubon prints, _Ayn Rand: Atlas Shrugged-_

He cocked his head, and plucked it up. 

Daniel finally noticed him then, turning around to look at him curiously. He ignored him, more interested in the novel. It didn’t seem his partner’s taste, but then again, when had he ever gone to a library with his partner; or spent time with him in daylight, learning what hobbies and interests he had outside of Nite Owl? He knew some things-his partner was always so willing to share-but there was so much else he didn’t know. For instance, he didn’t know if Daniel had read this book, or he’d picked it up out of curiosity. He stroked a thumb over the canvas cover.

“Who is John Galt?”

Daniel gave him a confused look. “What?” 

_That answers my question._ He half-smiled, and handed him the book. “Good choice. You should read it.”

Daniel grinned back, and this time he didn’t jerk away. 

\---

Daniel was surprised that Walter followed him back to his house. He rarely stayed to socialize; usually only hanging around to sleep on his cot when too injured to make it home. Once in a blue moon he would sit at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in one hand in silence, awkwardly broken by Dan’s halting one-sided conversation, for a half hour or so, before abruptly standing, tipping the brim of his hat in farewell, and then vanishing down his basement steps.

Right now, the situation was pretty much the same; one silent partner, complete with cup, sitting at his kitchen table. It wasn’t much different, even with a square of sunlight slanting over the counter and lighting the room instead of fluorescents. Walter’s face was as expressionless as Rorschach’s shifting ink, and he was just as awkwardly quiet. Not sure what to do with himself, he bustled around the kitchen in an attempt to keep himself busy.

“...I’m going to make some chili. Do you want some?”

Walter just nodded.

_Well, at least he’s accepting the offer instead of disappearing._ Daniel sighed. He kept _trying_ to get closer to his standoffish partner, but he was constantly kept at a distance. It made him feel pathetic, how badly he wanted to get closer to this violent, feral man; reminded him of his failed attempts in high school to make friends. His enthusiasm for his favorite subjects had unnerved his fellow schoolmates, so the few people he had been able to approach he’d driven off with his clinginess and desperation to make a friend. He’d learned his lesson hard, so he coaxed and wheedled his partner, but never asked outright for his daytime identity, even after revealing his; afraid of pushing too hard, of pushing him _away_. 

He stirred the browning meat, the silence in the kitchen almost overpowering. He looked over at his partner, who was occasionally sipping his coffee but otherwise just staring straight ahead. The papers in front of him were face-down, obviously to keep him from glancing at them and maybe seeing a detail that he shouldn’t. He thought he’d gotten used to being mistrusted, but that stung, just a little. 

“...So.” He started a pathetic attempt to break the silence. “Did the books I find help?”

Walter looked up at him, and he met that hard stare; only able to withstand it briefly before turning away, coughing to hide his embarrassment.

“...You never ask.”

Daniel almost missed the soft sentence. He blinked and turned to look back at Walter, who had his head cocked and just the barest flicker of expression creeping onto his face.

“You want to.” He frowned. “But you never ask.”

Walter was pointing at the resume’s, indicating that he knew that Dan would like to look at them, but he could tell that he didn’t just mean the papers.

_I show you my face, my name, my life. I show you all these things, but I’ll never ask for the same._

“I figured that you’d tell me when you trusted me enough.” He said softly, levelly. No pressure. No pushing. 

An unrecognizable expression surfaced briefly in Walter’s face. “I have always trusted you, Daniel.” He paused, trying to form words. “This is...not about trust.”

Dan blinked, surprised. That wasn’t what he was expecting; what the hell other reason did he have for keeping him at an arm’s length?

“Rorschach is a symbol. Justice, punishment. He is _not_ ” Walter pointed at his own face, lips curled. “This. Your partner is not a freckled, 5’6” man with a crooked nose.”

_...Oh._ Daniel placed a bowl of chili in front of him, and settled into his own spot with a sigh. It wasn’t explicitly spelled out, but the grimace on his face was kind of telling. He would have never have suspected the reason behind Rorschach being standoffish was because he honestly disliked his own humanity. It saddened him that his partner could feel that he was actually ugly enough to think Daniel would turn away from him. Hell, at one point in high school he’d embodied every nerd stereotype; coke-bottle glasses, pudgy, and pimple-pocked. He’d burned off the last of the baby fat when he’d joined a martial-arts class in college, and the pimples vanished at the end of puberty, but by then he’d also gained enough self-confidence to realize looks didn’t define him. 

“I’m a nerd with an obsession for owls and airplanes and I dress like a college professor. I even wear _cardigans._ ” He held Walter’s gaze with his own, blowing on a bite of chili. “I don’t see _you_ running away.”

Daniel ignored his look of surprise and took a bite, chewing it over thoughtfully. Walter wasn’t pretty, and his personality wasn’t going to win any awards; but the guy had saved his life numerous times and tolerated his rants about aeronautics and birds. And, underneath all of his gruffness, he could tell the guy did care about him; and if he really thought that Daniel didn’t feel the same, he hoped he could convince him otherwise. 

A rustle had him looking up from his bowl to find the resumes slid in front of him, face up. An invitation. He smiled warmly and took the paper, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and examining it.

“ ‘Walter Kovacs.’” He read. “You’re a garment worker?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man stiffen. “...Yes.”

Okay, he was probably a _little_ sensitive about being in a profession that was traditionally dominated by women, but did he honestly think Dan, the guy he needled for his liberal beliefs, was really against that?

“Huh.” He continued to look over the rest, searching for any grammar errors or spelling mistakes, while keeping up the conversation. “That explains a lot; I’ve seen you do a lot of repairs on your suit...”

He blinked, and looked back up at Walter, an idea occurring to him. “Maybe you could be a tailor? You helped me with my costume, when I wanted to upgrade from spandex to something more durable.” He pointed at the listing of the years he’d worked at the factory. “And you have plenty of experience.”

“Unskilled worker.”

“Buddy, you are many things, but not ‘unskilled’. Besides, the worst they can say is no.” He shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dan took a nap after Ror- _Walter’s_ visit. His dreams were hazy and nonsensical like all dreams; and like dozens of times before they turned sexual, dipping down into the sordid parts of his brain that he usually kept hidden, even from The Twilight Lady. 

(He suspected she knew about those fevered desires anyway, even if she didn’t know the exact details.)

Dan jerked awake, woken from a dream about an infinite number of white freckled hands and black leather-clad ones running over his body. He flushed, realizing he was half-hard and trying to will it away. 

He’d always had a low-level attraction to his partner’s brutality, but he could recognize simple lust when he saw it. It didn’t help that he knew there was a face under all that now; a person that was so socially maladjusted and painfully aware of it, but still attempting to be friends with him. If he wasn’t careful, that lust might tip over into something else and make him do something stupid.

The problem below the belt finally subsided, and he was in the middle of throwing on some sweats when he heard a crash from the kitchen. He stumbled down the steps to the kitchen to find Rorschach scooping up a pile of sugar cubes and the remains of a shattered sugar bowl.

“Apologies.” He rumbled. “Was attempting to get it down from the shelf. Dropped it.”

Dan sighed, and helped him to find all the pieces, before going to fridge for dinner. “You want anything?”

“Already ate.” He grunted. “Leftover chili.”

Dan shrugged and reached for the Chinese takeout container, opening it only to find it empty. He blinked at it, and pulled open a drawer, to find the last of the lunch meat and cheese for sandwiches also gone. Looking at the top of the fridge, the bread had also vanished.

His eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Just the chili?”

“No. Ate chili first. Was still hungry.”

Daniel gave him a baffled look. “So...what? You made a triple Decker Lo Mien sandwich with ham and cheese on rye?”

“No, ate Chinese separately.” He said, completely ignoring the sarcasm. “Made sandwich with ham, cheese, mustard, tomato, lettuce. Also can of peaches. Covered all four food groups. Important to get proper nutrition.”

Daniel opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, trying to think of a response. Finally he blurted “What the hell am _I_ supposed to eat?”

He cocked his head, seeming to think it over. “Can of beans on top shelf.”

_Yeah, only because it’s out of reach, you five-foot bottomless pit._ Daniel stared at him, bewildered and trying to find a diplomatic way to tell him _not_ to eat him out of house and home. There wasn’t one.

“You can’t just eat everything in the house you know.” He said, exasperated. 

Rorschach tensed. “Said to make myself at home.”

“That doesn’t mean stripping my cupboards bare!”

He shifted uneasily for a minute, looking at Daniel and then at the cupboard. “...Not sure what you mean.”

“What don’t you understand about not eating everything in reach?” Daniel said, baffled. The image of his friend actually making all of that vanish into his gullet like a reverse clown car was both awe-inspiring and a little disgusting. 

“Offered your leftovers many times.” He growled; defensive. 

Dan held up a placating hand; smiling a little to show he wasn’t entirely serious. “I was being sarcastic.”

Rorschach stared at him. Daniel suddenly had the niggling feeling he’d missed something.

“Do you _get_ sarcasm?” He said, confused.

“...No.” The glove leather creaked as the smaller vigilante clenched his fists. “Don’t understand sarcasm.”

“You mean you-” Daniel blinked, startled. “-Uh. Where you always like that, or is it because of the split?”

Rorschach just tensed up even more. “...Before. Also. Sometimes.” 

He fell silent, which allowed Dan to translate the three, clipped words into the small revelation that Rorschach hadn’t always got it when he made those jokes. “So, wait. When I...oh.”

He didn’t respond, just clenched and unclenched his fists, shuffling uneasily on his linoleum.

_Well, that explains a lot of awkward pauses in conversations._ He frowned, and wondered what other, more subtle nuances in conversations and social interactions he didn’t get; what other societal rules that everyone else knew that he was oblivious too. It might explain why Rorschach didn’t understand that eating the last of the sandwich fixings was rude-

Rorschach broke his train of thought. “Don’t understand why you are angry about leftovers when also offered laundry, use of the guest room and shower. Open your home and reassure me that am welcome to it. Don’t understand why you retract offer when I take it.”

“I _do_ want you to come over and use what you need; you just can’t eat everything in the goddamn house. I mean, before you always refused to use my shower, a meal, laundry...or just to stick around for a while and talk, and now the only food left is a can of beans on the one shelf you couldn’t reach! It all or nothing with you? Why is everything so black and-” Dan managed to stop himself, realizing what he was about to say.

The latex mask just stared back at him, ink clouds swirling on white, never mixing.

They were both silent for a moment, before Rorschach haltingly spoke.

“Have difficulty determining when I’ve worn out welcome. Refused on the basis of avoiding risking you becoming intolerant of my company.” He rolled his shoulders, and the next sentence sounded a bit rueful. “Have been told my personality is...taxing. On other people. Have had difficulty making friends or keeping them; for that reason.”

Daniel mouthed soundlessly for a moment; taken back by the response, before trying to apologize. “Buddy, I-”

Rorschach cut him off. “Would prefer being told if finding my habits annoying. Would like a chance to correct them; instead of ceasing friendship.”

Dan’s face softened, and he smiled a little. “I can manage that.”

All the stress bled out of him and he nodded. “Thank you, Daniel.”

“Sure.” He said, and sighed, releasing the tension he hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding. He hadn’t meant for such a silly topic to turn so serious, but somehow it had. Amazingly, it had concluded with his partner actually requesting him to tell him when he got too annoying so he could stop. It was more honesty and sincerity than he’d gotten from some _girlfriends_ in the past. 

_And it only took us ten years and a freak experiment for that to happen._ He thought wryly, throwing on his costume. Well, at least it was something. Now, if only he could have some kind of magical insight that could solve his more personal issues. Issues like, say, when his skin had broke out in hot prickles two nights ago when Rorschach had peeled off that translucent shirt to reveal that, yes, he _was_ built like a brick outhouse. 

Dan flushed and resolved to try not to think about that, especially while tugging on grey spandex pants with a restrictive cup. Straightening, he jerked in surprise to see Rorschach standing just a few feet away, leaning on the lockers and patiently waiting for him to dress. He flushed again. Rorschach had never really understood personal space, but he’d always given him a mile-wide berth when he’d changed.

“...Um.” He noticed Rorschach jerk, and smiled reassuringly. “Buddy, I’m not gonna yell at you again. Could you just...wait somewhere else?”

He nodded stiffly, and walked off. He finally finished dressing, and joined him in the ship. “I just want a little privacy when I’m getting into costume, okay?”

He nodded again, and Nite Owl grinned as he put Archie into gear, glad about that small assent. _Maybe we can work things out after all._


	7. Chapter 7

Rorschach circled the scene, like a vulture or shark, examining it. The congealed blood and spilled drugs meant something, spelled a pattern. It would reveal itself if he just examined it long enough.

He circled again.

...And again.

The fourth time revealed no more than the other three. By the fifth time he looped around it, Nite Owl was giving him a puzzled look.

“...Anything pop out at you?” 

He stopped. “No.”

“Well, the blood has been sitting here for an hour, at least.” 

Nite Owl paused, looking from him to the scene and back again.

“...And there’s a lot of it.” Deliberately leading, that time.

Rorschach stared uncomprehendingly at the stained concrete, littered with clues. All the pieces of the puzzle were there, but he couldn’t put them together. It made no sense, but it _should_ make sense; it’s as if there was a missing part of his-

He groaned and put his head in his hands.

\---

Walter was jerked very roughly from his sleep. He looked blearily up at the mask hovering over him, and wondered why he felt as if he’d only slept a few hours if his vigilante persona was shaking him to get his up and ready for work. His eyes slid over to the alarm clock, and the dim red numbers read _midnight._

He glared at Rorschach.

“Urgent.” He grunted. “Come.”

“You.” Walter grunted. “Elaborate.”

Rorschach did not appreciate the mockery. Walter snarled like a bear forced from hibernation as he was bodily hauled out of bed. A pair of pants hit him in the face, and he struggled into them just as a large, heavy form dropped onto his windowsill and slid into his room. Walter stared in horror as Nite Owl stood in his grimy, disheveled apartment, huge and imposing in leather and Kevlar while he was dressed in nothing but some threadbare pants. To his relief his partner didn’t bother to look around, just urged him to follow.

“We came on a scene that might have enough clues to put Chen in the slammer.” Nite Owl hissed, low and soft. “But we’re having some difficulties.”

“What difficulties?” He gratefully took the shirt Rorschach offered him, and wriggled into it.

“Uh...” Nite Owl looked at his doppelganger, waiting for him to explain. He looked too, wanting an answer to why he was being woken in the middle of the night, and _why Nite Owl was in his room._

“Seem to have lost investigative ability.” He shrugged.

Walter blinked, dumbfounded. Why in the hell would Rorschach have lost it?

Unless...

He grimaced, belatedly realizing that he was not as cleanly separated from his crime fighting lifestyle as he had thought. He also realized that he was probably going to be facing a lot of these late-night calls. He sighed, and toed on his shoes.

\---

As it turned out, Nite Owl had parked his ship right on the roof of his tenement, miraculously without attracting the kind of attention an owl-themed ship should attract, but it made him uneasy how blurry the lines were growing between his vigilante side and his civilian life. It was far too ease for his landlady to step out of the roof access for a late-night smoke and see one of her tenants getting into a ship with Nite Owl and Rorschach like he did it every day. He gritted his teeth and remained tense until the ship was well away, all without people pointing and shouting.

“You could have been more _discreet_.” He hissed at Nite Owl.

His face colored. “We were in a hurry.”

Rorschach nonchalantly took out a sugar cube, unconcerned. “Ship parks on many different rooftops; people will not make assumptions seeing Archie land on roof briefly.”

“They might if they see me _entering it._ ”

“No one did.” He popped the white cube into his mouth. “Only visible from ground; no surrounding buildings have good view.”

Walter glared at the shifting latex anyway, still annoyed. He didn’t care if no one could see them, if no one could make the connection; he still didn’t want Nite Owl to see the squalid reality of his apartment.

“We won’t make a habit of it.” Daniel promised. “But we really didn’t have the time to hide the ship and sneak into your apartment building.”

Walter was not the least bit mollified, but he let it drop. He grunted, and deliberately took the co-pilot chair; having a staring contest with his costumed doppelganger. Normally he wouldn’t be this bold with his violent other half, but he’d had his privacy invaded and was woken up in the middle of the night to go on a chase across town. He _deserved_ it. 

Rorschach stared back, and Nite Owl shifted uneasily. His unease changed to surprise when Rorschach actually backed down.

\---

The investigation didn’t actually take that long, and they had arrived quickly enough that no one had come back yet to disturb the scene and make an attempt to clear the evidence. Walter rattled off his findings, and finally he felt he could go home and leave the pursuit of Chen to his vigilante persona. Just because he had the investigative ability didn’t mean he felt as if he belonged in a gritty back alley at night; that was supposed to be Rorschach’s function. He didn’t have a costume or gruffness or a reputation among the underworld; he was just Walter, standing and feeling naked in stained clothes and scuffed shoes. 

Being without a vigilante persona, however, didn’t seem to affect his ability to case a scene; or impress Nite Owl with that ability. The grin on his face when he thanked Walter was just as bright as it always was; and the warm grip on his shoulder was the same. When he was given the remote control for Archie and told he could wait inside the ship if he wanted, he almost felt like he wanted to go _with_ them. But he knew that he would be uncomfortable and a liability, so he forced himself to leave them to it and scale the building where Archie was parked. 

He lifted the remote to punch the button that would open the hatch, and stopped. His finger wavered indecisively, and his brow furrowed.

_...He didn’t know what the right button was._

He hissed in frustration when he understood why. He knew how to figure out a crime scene because he’d studied that field in Charlton; dreams of being a police officer before he was shut down by their refusal to accept him on account of the record of his psychological evaluations. The knowledge of how to operate Archie, however, was only gained after he’d become Rorschach and became partners with Nite Owl. Now he was standing before a ship that was outfitted with flamethrowers, missiles, and was the child of years of hard work and thousands spent. And he was armed with a controller that had a mass of unlabeled buttons that could activate any one of those, or send it plummeting to the ground.   
His eyes shifted from the ship to the controller once; before he sat on the gritty concrete, content to wait outside.


	8. Chapter 8

While Walter sat fuming outside the airship, wishing he could go back to his own bed and sleep, Rorschach and Nite Owl were deep in the twisting corridors under a ‘respectable’ business. They paused, considering where they should go next. All of the corridors looked similar, and it was very easy to get turned around. Fortunately, it seemed almost deserted.  


If the two of them had still occupied the same body, Walter would have taken this opportunity to snarl about how crime corrupted everything, including a mom ‘n pop corner store; and that the taint had been brought on the greasy backs of illegal Asian immigrants. Separated from him, Rorschach took the opportunity to relish the quiet; and without the froth of righteous wrath occupying his mind, he felt more clear-minded than he ever had. Rorschach had a purpose, and that was to dispense justice. Country of origin or skin color mattered less than the stark colors of black and white; ink and latex. 

Ruminating quietly on those thoughts, a small sound that might have gone unnoticed in the middle of a right-wing frothing was able to be heard. It was the very faint whisper of human voices; low and indistinct. He tapped Nite Owl’s shoulder, getting his attention away from the map he’d scrawled on a scrap piece of paper of the corridors they’d visited so far. Both of them pricked their ears and listened intently, and gradually they followed the voices to a small room.

There were five or so, smoking and playing poker, only occasionally speaking to declare bets; otherwise as quiet as could be. Daniel was tempted to walk in and ask if he could join, just to see the looks of confusion of their faces; but he could see revolvers on each hip, and probably a couple of knives hidden under coats and slipped into boots. Better to get the drop on them before they could use them.

Rorschach nodded at him from the opposite wall, and the game was on.

Nite Owl got the first hit in, walking right up to one of them and just punching him in the jaw. A tooth went flying in a dramatic arc, bouncing once on the table before adding itself to the pot. It got to sit prettily on the top of the green chips for a split second before it all went flying when Rorschach kicked the table itself, upending it on top of two other gang members.  
They drew their knives, but wisely not their guns. It was close-quarter combat and they were at risk of shooting each other, which Nite Owl was briefly glad for. Then, however, it was proved that they actually knew how to _use_ those knives; and he was too damn busy keeping his kidneys and other internal organs away from them to be grateful for anything more than that he was still alive. The guy that he’d first gotten had been knocked out, so the numbers were even, but the odds were still against them. They were used to being outnumbered, but it was usually against petty thugs, not specialized Yakuza.

Still, Rorschach was able to bring down two of his own-one with his own knife-just in time to see Nite Owl facing off one-on-one with the last man, circling each other like sharks. He almost intervened, but paused when Daniel threw a feint, making the man dodge so he could catch him with a beautifully executed uppercut. The force of the blow lifted him a half-foot off the ground and sent him crashing into a stack of boxes, making them rain down on the groaning, half unconscious man. It was the perfect example of just how much strength Nite Owl was capable of wielding in that large, broad frame; and-despite boxing not being really his style-just how effective the few boxing moves he used were.

Then it was just them in the room, victorious and quiet save for the few groans of the criminals on the ground. He watched as Nite Owl caught his breath, sweat-slick face glistening slightly in the fluorescents, chest heaving and straining grey spandex. _In out. In out._ Daniel forced himself to breathe through his nose, and eventually the deep breaths stopped, and the tense muscles straining the fabric relaxed. 

_Rounded muscles and warm skin, sliding grey spandex on, sliding a persona on-_

Rorschach flicked his hand, trying to shake off the hot, prickling flush blooming over his skin. He also tried to ignore the sinking feeling that he recognized the sensation.

They roped the men together, then zip-tied them to a pipe on the wall. Later, they’d phone the cops to truck them away to jail, but right now they needed to head even deeper into the warren. Chen was coiled up in a hole somewhere, and they needed to find him before he got wind of their pursuit; or he would vanish down an even deeper hole. And they couldn’t let that happen, not with the evidence they’d gathered off the last crime scene finally enough to get him locked up behind bars.

_Left, right. Left, left. Doorway._

Weak light spilled out of it, and Rorschach craned he neck around to peer in, before immediately jerking back as bullets tore into the frame. He nodded at Dan; a confirmation. Chen was indeed there, furiously stuffing a bag with what looked like equipment. Likely he’d gotten wind of their investigation, and they’d interrupted him in the middle of his getaway.

“Put your gun down and come peacefully, Chen.” Nite owl said evenly.

A rather colorful curse and another swarm of bullets followed, and they both got the impression that he was disinclined to acquiesce to their request.

“Alright then.” Dan muttered, readying a flash-bang grenade. “Guess you’ll have to come kicking and screaming.”

As soon as the grenade clattered across the floor, they both squeezed their eyes shut and plugged their ears. It was still loud, but at least they weren’t deaf-or, in the case of Chen-stumbling around blind _and_ deaf, shooting like a maniac. They waited until he ran out of bullets before tackling him to the ground and trussing him up like a turkey; _this_ time using extra knots because Chen was literally a slippery character; he’d wiggled out of restraints before when he’d been left for police to find. It had been...embarrassing, to say the least.

Nite Owl was still creatively applying knots while Rorschach pawed through the paraphernalia scattered on the workbench. There were syringes, alcohol swabs, rubber hose; standard drug equipment, along with looked like a list of what could be contacts in kanji. It was useless to him, and it was the one time he wished he could read some chink’s handwriting, if only to know what it was. There was also a large ring of keys, which he took; knowing that at least could potentially be useful for searching the rest of the compound. He turned and crouched down in front of Chen, a syringe pinched between two of his fingers. 

“Selling drugs now, Chen?” He growled. “Very bad.”

He glared back, saying nothing. 

“Your supplier?” He asked.

Chen remained silent. He didn’t remain that way, screaming and cursing through three broken fingers, but still revealed nothing. It was apparent the man was going to stay quiet, so Rorschach stopped the interrogation and threw him aside. Walter would have kept going, breaking all of the man’s fingers-not because he _really_ believed the man would finally speak-but for some unnamed reason that Rorschach wasn’t sure he understood. Pain in interrogation got results; excessive pain for no logical reason...

Sometimes, Walter’s violence bothered him.

Still, he had his uses. When Daniel announced that he was going outside to radio the police, he asked him to bring their ‘associate’ in. He wanted to gather whatever evidence they could before the police came and contaminated the scene; hopefully Walter would spot something that could be of use in tracking down the remaining players in this yakuza gang. He shoved Chen’s head into a bag and cinched it, effectively keeping him from potentially seeing Walter; and waited.

\---

When Daniel found him sitting outside the ship, he was glad that the other man didn’t ask him why he was sitting out here, even though he looked slightly confused about it. Nite Owl just informed him that he was needed- _again_ -and led him through multiple twisting corridors to a room with his other persona in it; before leaving to radio the police. His signal couldn’t reach from inside of the building; too much interference. He was soon left with just Rorschach and one bound and bagged criminal; in a room with scattered equipment and papers.  
In one glance he was able to see that this place had frequent traffic, seeing as how the floor and most of the surfaces were free of dust, unlike the thickly-coated unused rooms he’d seen on the way. This place was most likely abandoned, forgotten by the proper owners and gradually infested with these human cockroaches. Shifting through the equipment, he found a mason jar with a large rubber seal, a selection of thin metal rods, clear metal tubing, a syringe of unknown substance, and a small hand pump. On another bench, an impressive collection of scalpels were spread over towels, next to aluminum bowls of various sizes. When he picked up a box full of rubber gloves, he found some rather medieval-looking forceps under them. Everything smelled like chemicals, but it was bleach instead of the sickly-sweet smell of cocaine or meth. Nothing, besides the syringe, looked like the equipment typically used by gangs for making drugs.

He was staring in confusion at the bizarre array of surgical equipment when he heard a small whimper.

Rorschach looked around too; and they both cautiously walked over to a wall of dusty metal shelves. Shoving them back, they found a rusted metal door with a large padlock looped over the handle. Walter picked the lock (honed with years of boredom and desire to get out and see more than the hospital-white walls of Charleston) and the lock clattered to the ground. When they opened the door, Walter had to force himself to breathe through his nose. The combined odor of multiple unwashed bodies, and the sharp ammoniated smell of old piss and vomit tried to gag him. He grimaced; then flinched as a dozen staring eyes turned to look at him, shining like cat’s eyes in the dark. 

They were all young females; under the filth, they were pale skinned with matted dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. And obviously fresh from Asia, because when Rorschach approached one, she babbled a plea in some foreigner tongue, yanking her restraints in an effort to get away.

He turned on a light, and they all flinched under it, eyes suddenly blind by light that they hadn’t seen in far too long. Under the harsh fluorescents, he could see some of the dark stains were not dirt, but bruises. He could see how young some of them were too; their foreigner faces making them look even younger than his guesses at thirteen, fourteen. He could see how exposed they were too; in nothing but short skirts, tank tops. Some in nothing at all.

_The better to see what they can offer a client._

He hunched in on himself, shuddering in anger and revulsion. Abducted from their homes or sold by their parents, they were shipped overseas to a country where they had nothing, not even a language they could speak. Trapped by that, they would be easy to keep controlled and restrained. Better still if they could get them hooked on crack; so they would never leave their pimp and supplier.

Rorschach crouched next to one of the girls, who was shaking worse than any of the others, and would sometimes let out a little whimper of pain. He didn’t touch her, she flinched away every time he tried; but she was obviously injured. Probably internally.

He tried again, and she jerked away so far she almost fell over, and this time he could see the thin trickle of blood staining her shorts. He stopped, the slow realization of where she was bleeding from might mean sinking in. He might have lost his forensic skills to Walter, but he hadn’t lost that deep, instinctual sense of what people could really do to each other. He looked back, and could see from across the room the way Walter stiffened, and he rose to block his vision. 

They didn’t speak. Walter turned away to slowly gather papers, shuddering. He bumped against the table with the equipment, and the forceps slithered to the floor, its toothy jaws sliding open to reveal blood trapped in the creases that bleach hadn’t taken away. He stared at it, his whirring mind unable to stop rolling into dark spaces, unable to stop his eyes from wandering over the equipment, seeing it with new purpose. From seeing it’s _real_ purpose.

_"I should have had that abortion!”_

He didn’t really think as he grabbed the syringe, or when he jabbed it into Chen’s arm. His voice slipped into a deeper, more jagged register then it had ever gone, even as Rorschach.

“See you’ve been doing your own alterations, Chen.” He hissed into the man’s ear when he jerked. “Hard to sell pregnant children when you promise an untainted product.”

“The equipment took care of the rest after a shot of this stopped its heart.” The man stiffened, and he pressed closer. “One milliliter was enough; but there are three left.”

Chen started shaking and didn’t stop. “If you list your suppliers, we won’t have to find out if three is enough for you.”

After he said that, Chen didn’t stop talking either.

\---

He stood in the hall, struggling to breathe in fresher air; feeling as weak and vulnerable as he had when he’d been five, at the mercy of his whore mother. His armor was stripped from his mind, walking around without him, finishing gathering papers at his back. 

He jerked at the gleam of goggles in the dark corridor, then recognized Nite Owl approaching him. 

“What did you find?” He whispered quietly.

“More evidence.” He managed to grind out. 

“Need help?”

“No.” He sucked in a breath, willed himself to be still. “Wait in the ship. I’ll join you soon.”

Daniel didn’t object. He often let his partner handle gathering evidence, since he was the partner with all the forensic skills; and he knew the importance of not disturbing a crime scene so his partner could gather untainted evidence.

Or, at least that’s what Rorschach told him. It was partly true. Partly.

The other part of it was that he didn’t want to see Dan’s face pale when he saw the true horrors that the human animal could inflict in that room that stank of fear and vomit. He looked down at his hands, hands that wouldn’t stop shaking; hands that a moment ago he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop from using to push the plunger down on a clear syringe if the man refused to talk.

_He didn’t want Daniel to see._

Walter sucked in another breath, and turned to head back in.


	9. Chapter 9

Daniel was about to go back in when the door hissed open, Rorschach and Walter stepping into Archie. He was glad to have them back; the red and blue strobes of police lights were already lighting up the surrounding area, and he knew his partner and the local cops didn’t get along. He almost headed for Walter’s apartment to drop him off, but seeing as how the guy _really_ hadn’t appreciated him using his tenant roof as a parking spot, he just went home.

The ride back was quiet, and this time Walter didn’t take the copilots seat. He stood facing away from him, staring out one of Archie’s eyes while Rorschach slumped down in the copilot’s seat. He’d glance at them occasionally, and with one wearing a mask, and the other’s face only blurrily seen in the curve of glass anyway, he was forced to fall back on the old standby of body language. Rorschach was tense, wound up tight. Walter wasn’t, but his stillness was the kind that only came over him after a bad night. 

Daniel sometimes wondered just what he saw whenever his partner shooed him away from crime scenes.

Archie settled down into his cradle, and they all disembarked. Both of them waited obligingly for him to get back into civilian clothes, Walter setting down what they’d both gathered on the workbench, sitting down to look it over. He couldn’t read Kanji, but some of it was in English and he needed something, _anything_ to distract him; to keep him from seeing wide black eyes and tasting bile at the back of his throat.

Rorschach hovered at his elbow, so close he could feel the brush of his trench on his arm; the way he tensed at the sounds of the zippers on Nite Owl’s costume coming undone. Walter looked up at him, focus narrowing in on his other half. Before he could say anything, Daniel came around to them.

Rorschach drew away from him, and turned towards Daniel. “May have a sandwich?”

Dan gave him an amused look. “Yeah, help yourself.” 

Walter gave Rorschach a confused look-for the uncharacteristic politeness-and felt like he’d missed something. Dan smiled at him, then nodded towards the table.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He said. “You should sleep if you’ve got a job in the morning. Let Rorschach handle it.”

“I have the forensics ability, not Rorschach. Besides,” He said, patiently swabbing what looked like a scalpel to test for blood. “Two heads are better than one.”

He laughed, then grimaced as he felt a shooting pain run up his side. One of the thugs had gotten lucky with a knife, and he was really starting to feel the sting. Walter appeared at his elbow, and immediately he felt the press of hands on his sides, inspecting the shallow cut on his ribs. He hissed in pain.

“Sit. I’ll clean it and numb it.” He ‘hmmed’ in his throat, examining it. “At least you won’t need stitches.”

Daniel blinked in surprise. His partner usually let him alone if the wounds were minor and within his reach. After the split, Rorschach let him fend for himself almost completely, and now it seemed Walter was the opposite; _wanting_ to take care of him. He felt rather grateful and a little confused; but he obediently sat on a nearby stool. Walter went to work, swabbing with peroxide, then immediately swiped a little bit of numbing agent along it. He relaxed as he felt deft, efficient hands wander over his back, inspecting bruises and cuts.

“Hrm. Rough night?”

Daniel rolled his shoulders, enjoying the attention. “Not too bad. We got on the bad end of some mobsters, but they didn’t stand a chance.”

“They never did.” Walter tossed the bloodied paper towel into the bin. “Even before the Nite Owl and Rorschach team was reduced a fraction.”

“One and a half still equates to a bunch of gang members running scared.” He grinned.

“Not very difficult, when all is accounted for.”

Nite Owl gave him a sidelong look and snorted a brief laugh, cutting it off because of his bruised ribs. Next to him, Walter’s lips twitched; the closest he’d seen him come to a smile yet. Daniel grinned and leaned back against the desk. He was really starting to enjoy this; his partner hadn’t been this talkative and friendly in a long time. Hell, he was even making lame puns, and he hadn’t done that since the sixties. 

“Man, I really missed this.” He sighed.

“Missed what, exactly.” Walter grunted, sitting down to go back to look at the evidence, but not paying it that much attention. 

“This.” He made a vague motion. “You being talkative, the jokes. Sitting with me and just being here, when you don’t really have too.”

Walter looked up, frowning in confusion.

“Over the last three years you’ve been getting more...I don’t know, intense. Quieter.” His face fell, the light humor starting to grow thin. 

Walter looked back at the evidence spread in piles over the table. Years ago it would have been covered with maps tracking Big Figure, stacked with coffee cups instead of bloodied forceps. 

Walter turned back to him, face darkened. “...World’s getting not getting any brighter Daniel.”

“It can be.” He said softly. “If you share the load between two people.”

“Already doing that.” He muttered, turning back to the never-ending pile. “Courtesy of Dr Manhattan.”

Daniel smiled a little, but he reached out anyway to rest a hand on his shoulder. He blinked and looked up, studying him. He knew his partner didn’t like too much physical contact, but he felt he needed to push the boundaries a little; remembering Dr. Manhattan’s words. 

_“If he continues along the same path he is currently following, there will eventually be nothing left of Walter.”_

“You’ve always been able to take care of yourself, buddy.” He smiled, feeling a bit uneasy, not knowing how long he would let him do this before shrugging out from under his hand. “But, if it ever gets too much for both of you...”

Walter didn’t move, or duck out from under the hand, letting himself feel the familiar heavy warmth in his chest. Daniel had always been generous, always concerned for his health and well-being; and after the bloody, hellish scene at the docks, it was almost too much to ignore. Usually he had more restraint, but he felt like it was gone right now, either under the pressure of having his only mental defense stripped away when he’d gone into the warehouse...or his restraint was also stripped from him, pacing upstairs and taking stock of his partner’s cupboards.

“Thank you Daniel.” He rasped, barely able to keep a pathetic tremor out of his voice. 

His hand was allowed to remain; the strange mood created by the touch and the exchange of a handful of words deepening. He could feel his vocal cords tightening, wishing to say more, spill out all that he had seen, all that he had done (all that he had _almost_ -) vomit it up and lay his head on Daniel’s shoulder; and just trust that there would be no disgust or shock, just the warm inherent kindness that his friend always offered-

The basement door opening cut through the silence, severing the line of thought that might have led to some bare, revealing words; and Walter wasn’t sure if he was glad or disappointed.  
Walter’s vigilante half appeared at the top of the stairs and looked them over for a moment, before finally interrupting. “Should be going. Work in two hours.”

Daniel watched the two of them disappear down the tunnel entrance, a forlorn silhouette against the florescent light.

\---

Rorschach stalked the apartment, pacing from one end to the other, waiting. Walter could see him in the reflection of the cracked mirror above the bathroom sink; a grey shadow on the deeper shadows of the other room, a ghost silently haunting the bedroom. When Walter focused on his own face in the glass, the person that looked back at him was just another ghost; pale and hollow eyed. Looking down, there was the reddish sludge of what had been his dinner (lasagna; the last of it) in the sink.

His stomach gurgled, and he almost heaved again, but he held it back. No good. No matter how many times he purged, that cold, heavy feeling stayed in his belly.

Rorschach appeared around the doorway, his scarred face splintered and distorted in the cracked glass. They eyed each other quietly in the small bathroom for a moment, before Rorschach walked over and handed him a chipped coffee cup of water. It did nothing for the leaden feeling in his stomach, but it washed away the burn of vomit in his throat. They stared at each other in the glass-one pale face to another-before Rorschach finally broke the silence.

“Shouldn’t go back.” Rorschach grunted. 

Walter turned to stare at him.

“Getting too...obvious.” He said slowly. “Might have figured it out.”

Walter dipped his head and swallowed, guessing what he meant. “I’m not usually so...emotional around him.” He looked back at Rorschach. “Seems like you got the restraint.”  
Rorschach stared back. “Not just you that’s the problem.”

They stared at each other, Walter remembering the way Rorschach had twitched at the sound of Nite Owl unzipping his costume behind the row of lockers, and he could read between the lines. How many times had he listened to the same sounds, the mask unable to muffle them; how many times had he wanted to turn around, and see the exposed curve of his partner’s back, his thighs? The thoughts made him want to vomit again; knowing now that his other self-his _ideal_ self-was tainted with those things that were only supposed to crawl under Walter’s skin.

“No.” The word was almost a low moan. “You can’t-no. Not supposed to be _you_.”

Rorschach shifted behind him. Didn’t deny.

He shuddered. “Why...why would you...” He couldn’t finish the thought, and looked away.

“Because.” Rorschach grabbed his chin roughly, forcing him to look back. “You have them. And you created me.”

Walter made a chocking sound and wrenched away. Rorschach waited for him to calm, and finally he spoke.

“We can’t leave. We’re his partner, he _needs_ us.” Walter said, remembering the docks and knowing he can’t leave Daniel to face that; it would kill his optimism, his belief that people were inherently good. He can’t let the smiling, affable face become closed off and cold; cynical. But neither can he let that face ever twist up in disgust, in revulsion; aimed at him because he was too weak to keep his own sick wants to himself. He can’t stay; and he can’t leave. Two impossible choices, and no way to compromise.

Rorschach silently turned this over, and slowly an impossible third choice came in his more practical, utilitarian mind.

“...There can be a solution.” He said, slowly. “To get what we need, without corrupting Daniel.”

The silence was long, but he let it go on. He knew that his other half would figure it out; he’d gotten most of the forensic ability.

“...Each other.” His voice was low. 

“Satisfy the urges. Reduce temptation.” He murmured, sliding his arms around the thin chest, drawing him close. “Will only be temporary. Until we are united again.”

Walter didn’t move for a long time, but a gloved hand finally came up to awkwardly stroke his back. Rorschach was not gentle; he was all hard angles, he had no slow smiles and his eyes were cold instead of warm. But he would do this; he would try to satisfy the yearning for affection and love that his neglected human side needed. Walter pressed close, knowing full well that he was too short, too pale, too bony and raw. He didn’t have a generous frame wrapped in rounded muscle, thin scars more like an accent, a compliment to the skin rather than jagged interruptions. 

He allowed Rorschach to push him towards the bed, and knew that...this...would likely hurt, and be rough. Meant as punishment, meant to just be taking what they needed; because that’s all either of them could do. 

Still, Walter was treated to cold, clinical presses of lips to his own. He was stroked, and petted; but it was distant, impersonal. He pressed up into the touch anyway, wishing for more, but they weren’t satisfying. The affection he wanted wasn’t in them, and it felt hollow. He tried to make it last, but he could feel the press of Rorschach’s erection against his leg, and knew it wouldn’t be much longer. He dipped his hand into the pathetic cardboard box under his bed, and brought up the small tub of Vaseline. Rorschach curled his lips in disgust, but he knew how many times he’d returned from patrol after watching his partner strip out of the corner of his eye, swollen and leaking, slicking himself with it to get relief. He didn’t dare comment, not with the flat look on Walter’s face; that _knowing_ look.

The clinical kisses on his jaw and neck continued, a parody of a lover, while he prepared himself. They stopped as soon as he withdrew the stretching fingers, and the breath was squeezed out of him as Rorschach pressed down on him. He muffled himself with a lapel as the blunt head burned its way into him, and never got it back as he started to thrust. His hips were held in a bruising grip, squeezing until there were purple marks. The pain was a harsh burn, but at least it wasn’t the feeling of being ripped, torn, that he had expected. It still didn’t feel particularly good; not like the fingers he’d used on himself in the slanting light of morning, imagined soft-lipped kisses on his throat, his mouth.

Rorschach was shuddering above him, and he was starting to make small, strangled noises. He felt alarmed; usually he was silent, perfectly quiet. Then again, it was Rorschach that had gotten the restraint portion, not the self-loathing that hated how the sounds reminded him of his whore mother. He shoved his hand over the parted mouth, and twitched when teeth nipped and rough lips sucked at his palm. It was good that he was mouthing his palm at least; he knew how badly he wanted to leave bite marks on a vulnerable throat, suck flesh until it was red. He knew how badly he wanted to mark Daniel, leave a claim in reddened and abused skin.

He knew that this wouldn’t last, not at this pace, and had resigned himself to riding it out, but his body had other ideas. It responded, like Pavlov’s dog salivating at the sound of a bell, to the rhythm and heat, the sound of harsh breathing. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine the rhythm slower, gentler, the body above him larger, and slid a hand toward his groin.  
He jerked at his half-hard cock until it was an irritated red, twitching and leaking. He smoothed back the foreskin, and wondered if Daniel was cut; how it would feel inside of him, with the absence of the slithery flap of skin he could feel now. Daniel wore briefs under his costume but nothing else, and by the end of a hard night in summer they were almost translucent with sweat. Thin enough to guess at the size of him, his thickness, and his length. Not enough to know if he was cut; leaving him salivating like a trained dog wishing for more. He panted like one too, his unusually active imagination feeding him a string of pornographic images. Apparently, when he had no restraint to stop him, his mind had no trouble in supplying. And, apparently, without the self-loathing, his other half’s moans were increasing. He bared his teeth and tightened his grip on the mouth, but it did little to muffle them. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t last much longer anyway.

He arched, and Walter felt the strange sensation of warm liquid trickling into him, and he briefly was irritated that Rorschach hadn’t even tried to pull out. However, his mind almost instantly supplied an image of Daniel bent over him, his imagined cry drowning out the real grunt above him, shooting his cum deep inside, and his own cry was muffled in the musty lapel of the trench as he came.

Rorschach was an inconsiderate lover. He collapsed on top of Walter, pinning him under suffocating weight. It might not have mattered if the body under him really _was_ Daniel; he was light compared to his partner, and he had a broad chest made for laying loose-boned on, like a cat in a sunbeam. Walter was _not_. It took a great deal of effort, but he managed to shove him off. Loose-boned as Rorschach was, however, he couldn’t protest as Walter smoothed his hand up and down his chest; couldn’t shove him away as he curled close and tucked his head under the narrow chin to rest his head on the shallow chest. It was too bony to be comfortable, the muscle too lean; but all human hearts beat the same, and the rhythm was enough to fall asleep too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how you look at it, this chapter has either masturbation or incest in it. I'm so glad someone came up with the self-cest term in the kinkmeme; it makes labeling a little less hazardous.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Walter talking it out and coming to some more understandings here. Or, as a commenter said on the meme, this chapter is full of 'adults using their words'.

Dan sighed, and tried to burrow even further under the covers. Last night had been a long one, and while it was well after noon, he was reluctant to get out of bed; but owlships didn’t repair themselves, and Archie had been rattling a little last night. It took him another couple of minutes to finally get up the gumption to kick off his sheets and wander downstairs to make coffee. He poured himself a bowl of cereal while it brewed, the fog slowly clearing from his brain as he ate.

Sucking down his second cup, he figured he shouldn’t complain; some people had it way worse. Walter, for instance, probably hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, what with the call in the middle of the night and his first shift job. He remembered all-nighter’s in college and finals the next day, and winced in sympathy.   
He kept thinking about that as he buried himself in Archie’s innards. He’d never really thought about his partner having a day job and how it must affect him; working all day and patrolling all night. Sure, he’d suspected his partner had some way of supporting himself, but it had never really crossed his mind before that he might actually be keeping up such a demanding schedule.

_Jesus,_ He thought idly, unscrewing a component, _when does the guy even sleep?_

As for _where_ he slept...well. He’d been aware that the guy was a bit of mooch, eating food from his cupboards when he thought he wasn’t looking, but seeing after seeing his apartment, he had the idea that the mooching might actually be out of necessity. It had never occurred to him that the guy might be swimming along at the poverty line, but really, if had been thinking, he might have realized the being a vigilante doesn’t leave much time or energy for a better job that paid more. What was he thinking; that his partner had a realtor’s job at a cushy office? God, it was probably all he could do to drag himself to work in the morning.

Dan grimaced, realizing that he was starting to feel a swell of pity for him, and quickly squashed it. He could see now why his friend had never wanted to let him know all the gritty details about himself; the look of embarrassment on his face when Dan had come into his living room had been quick, but there. He probably had expected him to feel exactly the way he was starting to feel right now, and he wouldn’t let himself do that. Pity was the _last_ thing his partner needed.

But, if it wasn’t pity, the guy certainly needed _something._ Dan was sure he’d been on the verge of saying something important last night, something revealing. He remembered the tension in Rorschach, the pained stillness in Walter, and wondered what he’d seen last night. The way Walter had let Dan rest his hand on his shoulder, not pulling away. 

He wondered what his partner saw at _every_ crime scene; what he saw when he came out of rooms that smelled foul, like old blood and fear sweat. He couldn’t count the times he’d caught up to his partner as he was stepping out of those rooms, fists clenched and shaking, telling him not to go in. He didn’t have nearly the analytic ability that his friend had, but neither   
was he stupid, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that his partner had found something pretty bad. He was also a terrible liar; and when he told Dan that he shouldn’t go in because he didn’t want any evidence disturbed or that it wasn’t safe he could see exactly what he was doing. He knew when he was being protected.

And, apparently, without that mask, he was also terrible at hiding his emotions. He’d seemed so tired, so scraped thin; ready to let whatever horror that had happened burst through the seams.

Dan had, too, been ready to tug him back from disappearing into that dark tunnel, _again_ ; ready to stop him from going to lick his wounds alone, always alone. But he was too much of a damn coward; afraid of pushing, afraid to push him _away_. He’d heard that mantra of _fine, Daniel_ repeated so often he’d stopped asking. He sighed shakily, resigned, and reached for a wrench. 

_“Walter’s vigilante persona is overtaking him.”_

He stopped, fingers touching the cool metal.

_“If he continues along the same path he is currently following, there will eventually be nothing left of Walter.”_

He drew back and swallowed; the echo of Jon’s words in his head. His partner had become quieter and more distant over the years; was he really going to let him drift away completely because he was too much of a damned coward? Dan had his back in a fight, but he would be a poor partner and a worse friend if he didn’t at least try to have his back in the those quite, tense moments after he’d found another bad scene. 

The lingering fear of driving his partner away for good remained even as he grabbed his keys; but the echo of Jon’s warning was loud enough to drown it out.

\---

Walter knew that he shouldn’t take a nap after work; it was late in the day and it would likely make it difficult for him to sleep at night, but he was exhausted. After a few days of experiencing the luxury of a full eight hours of sleep, a single night without made him feel more bone-deep tired than he had when he’d been forced to grab only snatches of sleep between work and patrol.

Rorschach didn’t leave the bed, but scooted over far enough so that they could share. The mattress was narrow, so they were crammed in like sardines; but Walter didn’t care. He started to drift asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow, and was lightly dozing when a harsh rapping on the door jerked him to wakefulness. He groaned, and looking over at his other half he could see that he was already asleep, dead to the world. He’d always been a heavy sleeper, the product of sleeping in an apartment with paper-thin walls, sharing a dormitory with other boys, growing up in another apartment much like this one, where his mother left the door open. He could sleep through most anything, once he _was_ asleep, and he almost dropped off, but another rap pulled him back out of it. He hissed; it was most likely the landlady, the fat whore snarling about the rent, trying to make sure he didn’t forget to pay it next month. He jerked himself out of bed and lurched towards the door to give her a piece of his mind. Usually he didn’t antagonize her because he didn’t want to be thrown out-he was treading on thin graces, what with how frequently he was late with the rent-but he was feeling murderous.

“I already paid the rent this month!” He screamed, whipping the door open. “You’ll get next month’s rent when it’s due you-!”

Whatever insult he’d been about to yell stuttered and died in his throat. Daniel blinked in surprise at him, fist still raised; as if he was about to knock again.

“...Uh.” Daniel said, unintelligibly.

“Daniel.” He forced his voice to smooth out. “...I wasn’t expecting you.”

It may not be Mrs. Shairp waiting at his door, but Daniel was someone he wanted even less. The murderous rage lowered into a simmering resentment; just because he’d let Daniel know his address, didn’t mean he’d given him permission to visit. He irritably wondered if Daniel was going to start stopping by now, dropping off bad casseroles and inviting him to beer sessions with Hollis; like they were normal, like they were _friends_.

Dan must have picked up on that; because he fidgeted on the spot, but didn’t back down. “I was, uh, wondering if you’d like to go...I don’t know, to the library or for a walk...”  
He trailed off, and behind him he heard Rorschach roll over, occupying the space he’d left. It was unlikely he’d be able to nap now; it was late in the day, and this conversation had woke him up enough that he could be sure that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway. 

He sighed, and prayed for strength.

“I’ll get my shoes.”

\---

The park wasn’t far from his house, so they walked there. Of course, that meant Daniel got to see the gauntlet of hoods and whores he ran every day in the neighborhood he lived in. From the way Dan skittered nervously around the crack addict on the corner; he was sure his partner was getting quite the experience. Without his cape and cowl, Daniel was exposed to the grim poverty laid bare in the sunlight. At night, his persona and the darkness gave him distance from these realities; but now, Walter could see this rich son of a banker was getting a very uncomfortable close exposure to the world he lived in. Seeing his partner jerk nervously away from the junkie’s grasping hands, deeply unsettled, he sped up; hoping to get them both out of this ghetto faster. He needed to get Daniel out of here _now_ before his nice clothes attracted the wrong sort of attention; and the less he saw of the slum he lived in, the better.

_Doubt he’ll come back to visit now._ He thought, grimly satisfied. 

Daniel managed to extricate himself from the junkie, and caught up with him. The look on his face spoke volumes, most of them along the lines of _how can you_ live _here?_ and Walter felt his lip curl in anger, in shame and disgust. Not everyone was born into a life of privilege where their parents cared for their every need and conveniently left them a fortune in their inheritance. The disparity between their positions in society was always there, but it never yawned quite so huge. He sped up, in some futile hope that the less time Daniel was exposed to the reality of his squalid life, the less chance that open, friendly face would turn on him and have pity written all over it.

If he did, Walter just might punch him.

Thankfully they reached the park without any further misshapes. It wasn’t much, mostly basketball courts and a few splotches of scruffy grass with a few picnic tables scarred from years of obsessive teenagers scratching their short-lived romances. They occupied one of the benches, watching the local hoods scuffle on the courts in relative silence. Daniel looked slightly awkward, and social niceties dictated that he probably should try to initiate conversation, but he was too tired to care.

“...So. Um.” 

Walter blinked slowly, and prayed for strength. Again.

“...How are you?”

“I’m fine, Daniel.” His voice was flatter than paper. 

“Oh, well. Um. You seem a little tired there, actually.”

“No.” He said viciously. “Bright eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Normally, he didn’t do sarcasm; his attempts at that kind of contradictory double-talk tended to come out flat. Right now he didn’t care, though, about how uncomfortable he was making his audience. He was tired and the sun was too bright and too _hot_. His stomach decided to rumble, adding its complaints to an already long list.

Dan blinked down at him. “You know, I saw a hot dog cart on the way over.”

“I don’t want a hot dog.” He said wearily. He didn’t have the money for one, and he didn’t want Daniel to know he didn’t have the money; _as if he didn’t already know from what your apartment looks like-_

It was like he read his mind. “Uh, you sure? I can pay for it, man-”

He curled his lip. “I’m not your charity case Daniel.” 

He turned away, not wanting to see the inevitable pity.

Silence settled and stretched, filled only by the squeak and shift of tennis shoes, of the name-calling and bragging of ghetto kids, dreaming of NBA stardom but doomed to either prison rosters or murder cases. Or, doomed to be like him; high-school education and stuck in a dead-end job that kept him just about poverty line but never allowed him to climb further. He’d plastered his resume around town, but people had either accepted it with barely-disguised disinterest or hadn’t accepted it at all and shown him the door.

“...Wait, you think that I...” Daniel’s voice was quiet he had to strain to hear. “Do you _really_ think that the reason I wanted to get you something to eat was because I...I wanted to give you a handout? Jesus, buddy, we’ve been friends for years and you think that I’m going to just start suddenly treating you like a second-class citizen-”

“You’ve seen my apartment, Daniel. Saw my neighborhood too, and got felt up the junkie on the corner.” Walter ground out. “You can see the discrepancies between my world and yours. Are you really going to say all that won’t change your perception of me?”

He glanced over at Daniel, and the expression he was wearing wasn’t the pitying on he was expecting. It was a hurt, pained look.

“...I was going to say, that I wanted to buy you the hot dog because I wanted to get my friend something to eat. Not as a handout to a charity case.”

Daniel’s gaze shifted back to the concrete, and Walter was left feeling biting shame. His partner had only been trying to be a good friend, and he’d bitten his head off for an imagined slight. 

“...Sorry.” He said, quietly. “I should have known that you wouldn’t...should have known better.”

There was silence for a another few moments, before Daniel spoke up again. 

“Does it really bother you that much when I offer you things like food or my couch? Is that why you always...” He trailed off, and Walter shrugged one shoulder.

“I don’t have the means to...reciprocate.” He said. 

Dan stared at him until he looked away. And...well, yeah, it did make a lot of sense. Their partnership was so uneven, so one-sided. Dan was the guy with the funds to pay for medical supplies, Dan was the one with a spare bedroom for his partner to use if he was too banged up to walk home; hell, he was the one that supplied all the _coffee_ , for chrissakes. How in the world was he supposed to repay a quarter of that on his no doubt minimum-wage job? In the social-economic ladder, Dan was pretty much on the top, while his partner clung to the bottom rung; a white-knuckle grip on it the only thing keeping him a hairsbreadth above poverty. Put in those terms, their friendship was massively unbalanced.

Thing was-and this part Dan was sure Walter had missed-is that their respective standings in society weren’t the only factor that affected their friendship.

“You _do_ reciprocate, though.” Dan risked a smile. “For instance, you are the only person I’ve met that doesn’t mind when I go on an engineering rant for hours.”

“Only for the first two, Daniel.” Walter’s lip twitched into a half-smile. “Then you start to go into strange tangents. Like a steel exoskeleton.”

He was still grinning, but he had to wince at that. “You’re never going to let me live that down, huh buddy?”

Walter was actually smiling back, now. “Someone has to keep you humble; and bandage up your arm when your mad science project goes wrong.”

Dan laughed, and for the first time in nearly a month, heard his partner laugh along with him.

“You know, that offer of a hot dog is still on the table buddy.” Dan said softly, once the chuckles had died down.

“I’d like that.” He said, and for once he accepted without reluctance. “Thank you.”


	11. Chapter 11

Saturday, and Dr. Manhattan _still_ hadn’t called.

Laurie had tried her best, but the ‘big blue dork’ as she called him, still kept saying he wasn’t supposed to reunite them yet. He had finally admitted that he would call when it was time, but goddamn it’s been a fuckin’ _week_ since this whole thing started, and nothing. Or, as Laurie put it; ‘Nada. Zip. Zilch.’

Dan was inclined to use a bit stronger language, but that wouldn’t change anything.

Saturday, and it was time for his weekly beer session with Hollis, who he still wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this one to his mentor. Because while the previous title holder had encountered some weird-ass stuff in his day, his group had never had a giant blue superman that could disassemble tanks, guns, oh, and as if that wasn’t enough: people. 

“Hey, Danny! You want a beer son?” The door flung open before he even knocked, and his mentor took him in with a cop’s practiced eye. “...Or two?”

Dan cracked a tired smile. “Make it a case.”

A couple of beers later and now on the wrong side of drunk, Hollis managed to wheedle the story out of him. At the end of it, Hollis stared just at him for a bit, wearing an expression somewhere between shocked and sympathetic. 

“...Weeping, creeping Jesus.” He finally said.

Dan giggled idiotically. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well.” Hollis cast around for something to say. “At least, from what you said, you finally got to know who the hell is under that mask.”

“Yeah...” Dan’s mood started to sink, like it did sometimes when it came to how his partner kept him at an arm’s length. Or whenever he drank too much. “I just wish he’d done it willingly.”

Hollis gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Sounds to me like he was afraid you’d judge him Danny.”

Dan gave him a confused look. “What? Why? We’re partners, he’s saved my life and...god, why would he ever think that?”

“I don’t know, son. But in my day I knew Capt, and the poor guy often wondered the same.” He said gently. “I don’t know Rorschach as well as you, but I often wondered if the reason HJ never took off the mask, maybe because he was afraid that we wouldn’t like the guy under the mask.”

Hollis stood to go get another pack from the fridge, probably preparing to offer comfort in the form of getting wasted, leaving Dan to turn that over. He stared down into the depths of a beer bottle like it had the answer, and eventually one swam up, and it wasn’t pleasant.

_“Oh sweetie, leave it on.” She’d cooed. “I like it. And besides, faces are so boring.”_

Dan swallowed, feeling a sour taste in the back of his throat, and not because of the beer. God, that had hurt, when he’d been so enraptured by the Twilight Lady; ready to peel off his layers and bare everything, she had laughed at him. She wasn’t interested in what lay under Nite Owl, she didn’t care about Daniel Dreiberg; the only thing she wanted was the fantasy, the costume. He’d been a lot younger and stupid; and after that he’d seen how flat and contrived their relationship was. 

He wondered if that was what Hooded Justice-what Rorschach-had been afraid of. Had they been afraid that if they stripped down, people would be disappointed at what was under it? 

Dan belatedly realized that Hollis was standing next to him, and jerked up to look at him. His mentor smiled at him, amused.

“Think you can stumble home kid?” 

In the end, Hollis walked him home, so Dan could sleep it off in time for patrol. He had a feeling he was going to be a somewhat hung-over mess come tonight, but hell, he’d survive. Hollis told him to take care, and left him to it.

Lying in his own bed and on the edge of sleep, Dan realized Rorschach had never laughed or turned away when he’d taken off the cowl, and smiled.

\---

Dan was prodded back into wakefulness by a gloved hand, and he was immediately aware of a pounding headache and a desert-dry mouth. He groaned and sat up reluctantly, feeling like warmed-over death. He blearily looked out his bedroom window, and was greeted by the slanting red rays of the just setting sun.

“...The hell man?” Dan groaned. It was early; his partner didn’t usually show up until true dark. By then Dan would have slept off the alcohol like he’d planned. 

“Need to get dressed Daniel.” Rorschach growled, and continued to badger him until he hauled himself down the stairs. 

He managed to make himself a cup of instant coffee, too hung-over to make a full pot, and nursed it while Rorschach rattled around in the kitchen. He watched blearily as his partner made a peanut butter-and banana-and apple- **and** jelly sandwich. He half-expected him to add some of the lunchmeat he pulled out-making his stomach lurch queasily-but it seemed even Rorschach had his limits, just eating the slices of ham plain. He still wolfed down the sandwich, and just the sight made Dan nearly throw up; his hangover bad enough he was seriously thinking of ducking out. Dan swallowed down some aspirin, and finally spoke.

“I’m not feeling so good buddy.” Dan said.

“Noticed.” Rorschach grunted, and he sounded somewhat disappointed. “Also smell of weak beer.”

Dan grimaced, sensing a lecture. “I, uh, went for a drink with Hollis-”

“The streets of New York shouldn’t pay the price of your indulgence.” Rorschach growled, annoyed. What Daniel did on his private time was of no concern of his, but when it interfered with their work he felt rightfully angry about it. “Get dressed.”

Dan briefly thought he should object; not only was he not feeling good, but he was sure he was still a little buzzed. All of his reason said that it was a bad idea to head out onto the streets like this, but he’d always been non-confrontational, and as Rorschach badgered him into putting on the spandex he didn’t really push back. He reasoned that he’d been worse off; fighting when he’d had popped ribs or healing concussions, despite what Hollis had always said about not going out until you were 100%; but he’d gone out before and survived. 

The coffee and aspirin started to sink in as he steered Archie downtown, the trajectory weaving slightly. He blamed the wind, but knew well that it probably wasn’t the only reason. He set down the ship on a convenient rooftop, and got to work tracking down the leads Walter had turned up from Chen’s lair. Walter himself had been coming by once or twice in the morning before heading to work to help with investigation, tracking down Chen’s sprawling network of pimps and human traffickers. Dan grimaced, and hoped he wouldn’t be stopping by today; he didn’t need a lecture twice about being devoted to the cause and not letting anything interfere with it. 

Thankfully, Rorschach remained quiet once they got into Archie; his partner had a tendency to go on and on for damn near an hour when he got on a topic, and sometimes Dan felt like a kid being lectured. It simultaneously angered him-he was an adult, damnit-but it was similar enough to his own father’s lectures that it made him cringe in shame. He liked his partner, but sometimes...  
Rorschach growled impatiently, breaking his train of thought, and Nite Owl forced himself to pay attention. He was still finding that difficult; the haze of alcohol putting a damper on his usually sharp mind. They were approaching the door of one of Chen’s pimps, and neither of them could be sure how dangerous the guy was.

Rorschach picked the lock, and they both came in quiet. The room they came in first was not the front door; it was actually the entrance into a connected outbuilding. This guy had a hand in cockfights and staged them here, but it was deserted tonight; leaving them to track their way across the sawdust covered and blood soaked ring. They both listened at the hall entrance, before making their way silently down it.Or, well, silent if they hadn’t discovered that besides cockfighting, he _also_ owned a couple of very large, very _loud_ exotic animals. Nite Owl had already turned off his night vision to avoid being blinded by the house lights, so he didn’t see the coiled form in the shadowy depths of a thickly barred cage. The roar and rattle as a Siberian tiger charged the side of his cage practically shook the house, and almost immediately after they heard the outraged and annoyed yell of the man they were after upstairs.

“God damn it!” Their target yelled, “Would you fuckin’ shut it!”

Soon after, they heard a set of footsteps pounding towards them. They hid in the darkest parts of the room, or as best as they could with the tiger snarling at them. To Nite Owl’s horror, it wasn’t their target or one of his goons, but a young boy. He didn’t notice them at first, instead going straight towards the cage. Dan grimaced, realizing that they might have to gag and hog-tie the poor kid so he didn’t raise the alarm. Civilians sometimes got caught in the crossfire, and that was the part of this job that he hated. His partner was less soft-hearted that him, but he’d always had a soft spot for kids, and it always bothered him when children were involved.

“Shh, Nana.” He said. “Here, have a-”

The kid made a gagging noise as Rorschach put him into a full choke-hold, and Dan nearly stopped breathing himself.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed. Fuck, he knew that it was necessary to quickly subdue him and keep him quiet, but putting him in a hold tight enough that it was cutting off his breath was way too fucking much. Rorschach didn’t seem to notice or care, just tightening his hold when the kid started to struggle.

“You’re holding him too tight!” He said, just managing to keep his voice down. “You’ll suffocate him!”

“That’s the idea.” He growled lowly. “Make him unconscious. Unable to make noise.”

“He’s not a criminal, Jesus; I can just gag him!”

“Still will make noise.” 

Dan had enough. The boy in his arms looked absolutely terrified, and every second he remained in Rorschach’s grip was one that he struggled less because of the lack of oxygen. He grabbed Rorschach’s arm and tugged, forcing him to loosen his hold. He had a moment to mull over the fact that Rorschach had been like that a lot, ever since the split; like he’d...well, like he’d lost his compassion for other people-which might very well be right; worryingly so-before he’d realized he’d pulled a little too had in his anger, and now the kid’s mouth and throat were free enough to let out a yell. It wavered because he was still a little breathless, but it provoked the tiger to give another roar, and now Nite Owl could hear more sets of footsteps thundering down the hall.

Rorschach snarled under his breath, and horrified him again by pistol-whipping the kid with his grappling gun, making him drop like a sack of bricks. He wasn’t able to stay horrified for long before they were bull rushed by two goons, and one of them got in a lucky hit with a machete, licking a line of fire along his ribs. The move cost his opponent, because it left him open to Nite Owl shoving a taser into his neck.  
He sucked a breath past the pain, pressing a hand along his ribs to close up the wound a little, and unfortunately missed another guy bursting out from the room behind him. He felt a crack along his skull and he might have the protection of the cowl but his vision was already graying out. It was pure luck that led him to landing a hit on the other guy and putting him down, but as the black ate his vision, the last thing he saw was Rorschach haring off down the corridor after the pimp-

_... leaving me behind..._


	12. Chapter 12

Waking was a slow, painful process; and when he _was_ finally awake, he felt like warmed over death and bad decisions.

Nite Owl got to his feet slowly, his head feeling so much worse than any hangover he’d ever had. He checked the wound on his side, and found it still bleeding, if a bit sluggishly. _I must not have been out for long..._

He noted that the two thugs hadn’t been tied yet, so Rorschach probably hadn’t come back from wherever he’d run off too; although if he had come back, Nite Owl would think he would have been woken by a firm shake.

...Or, at least that’s what he’d _like_ to think.

Trying not to let the feeling of abandonment sink in, he busied himself with securing the goons he’d taken out. Then he made his way carefully and slowly down the corridor, ears pricked for any sound. Eventually he heard noise in one of the rooms, and peered past the smashed in door.

“Hnn.” Rorschach finished tying the pimp and stood. “See you decided to join.”

Nite Owl gaped at him. _Did he not know I was unconscious back there?_

_...Or does he really not care?_

“I uh...got held up.” He managed, and winced as Rorschach kicked the prone man sharply when he groaned, stalling his rise back to conscience.

“Call it in.” He growled. “Main perp caught, can hunt down others at leisure. Leave cleanup to cops.”

Nite Owl just sighed, and took the opportunity to go back to the safety and comforts of Archie. His ship was well stocked with supplies, including painkillers and bindings for the wound on his side. That, and he could get away from his partner and _breathe_. He needed to get out of that place; he needed to get away from his partner. It felt like it took forever to get back to Archie, but he did get there. After taking two horse-pills and bandaging up his side, he rested his aching head on the steering wheel, thoughts churning in his head.

Most people got angry and confrontational; Dan, on the other hand, just got resigned. After years under the thumb of a strict, controlling father he became Nite Owl out of his need for agency; but for all the power of his costume and the confidence it gave him, it did nothing to improve his always terrible social skills. He’d always been socially ostracized, his strange interests and enthusiasm driving most people away. Desperate for friends, he rolled over for the few people that did like him, becoming a doormat that never confronted people when they hurt him. He knew that he should say something to Rorschach, but his partner was as fiercely independent as a feral cat; and it was all too easy to envision his partner dropping him without too much emotional turmoil.

He turned at the clatter of his partner boarding the ship, and Rorschach sat in the co-pilot’s seat without a word, fishing a sugar cube from one of his dozens of pockets and crunching down. Apparently, along with his lack of empathy, this part of his partner had no interest in giving him a lecture on vigilance and not letting yourself get caught off guard. Dan was more than fine with letting everything else slide if he could avoid a growled speech, and steered them home without a word.

\---

Archie settled into his cradle, none the worse for wear from tonight’s patrol. Nit Owl really couldn’t say the same, and he didn’t mean just the wound on his side. At least now he could escape upstairs and lick his wounds as it seemed Rorschach was more interested in digging through his cupboards than bending his ear with a lecture.

However, the first thing he saw stepping out onto the ramp was Walter rising up from the desk he’d commandeered for his own work. Dan muses he’d always been unlucky.

“How was patrol?”

 _How was your day, Danny?_ Dan grimaced, trying to shake off the overlaying image of his father sitting behind his phalanx of rustling newspaper, the appearance of mild friendliness all-too-often turning into disapproval.

“Fine.” He muttered, sounding more like Rorschach than himself, and of _course_ that just made him snap his head up to regard Dan suspiciously. Since this was the half of his partner that had the investigative ability he hastily hid in the changing room to curse his stupidity and hope that his laser focus would pass him by, knowing the chances of that. He _did_ know the chances of him bothering while he changed though-which was _nill_ because Walter always gave him his space while changing. And then he remembered Rorschach standing by a few nights ago completely unperturbed, and threw on his civvies afraid the guy would come barging in.

Outside the flimsy shelter, Walter ground his teeth, annoyed. Walter always gave him a wide berth when he changed (pink skin exposed, sliding a costume off, drawing out a smiling face and sweat-mussed hair-) because he didn’t like the reminder of how he and his whore mother were more alike than he wanted to admit. Right now, however, he ground his teeth in anger at Daniel, not himself. He knew Walter wouldn't bother him while he changed, and Walter knew Daniel knew, so this was nothing more than cowardly hiding on Daniel's part. Guilty conscience. Something had gone wrong on patrol and if he was going to skulk around in the changing room that he could always get his information from a different source.

Rorschach could feel Walter’s eyes on him without turning around. He’d always had a hair-trigger sense of awareness, but ever since the split the feeling of Walter’s presence went above and beyond simple alertness. Right now the gaze of his weak, mutable eyes prickled like sunburn and he turned around with a low snarl.

Walter was not impressed. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “Nite Owl fell behind. Was able to catch target without him.”

All in all an unremarkable night, but Walter’s eyes narrowed.

“Why did he fall behind?”

He paused in turning over a sugarcube he’d found in the pocket of his trench, left there by Walter before the spilt; uneaten because Rorschach didn’t feel the same need to indulge in sweets. He also didn’t feel the need to nitpick over tonight’s results. They’d caught the man and both of them were in one piece; Rorschach didn’t care to go over the semantics.

“Don’t care.” He growled, ready to end this conversation so he could go back to the tenement and sleep. “More important to catch the perpetrators, not to stick around and hold his hand through patrol.”

And of course, because Dan had never been lucky, and bad luck went hand in hand with bad timing, he finally stepped out of hiding only to be hit with Rorschach's blunt words. Walter winced internally to see him flush a miserable shade of red. What made it even worse is that he’d thought that to himself more than once when Daniel had felt more like a burden than a friend, whenever wounds slowed Daniel down and dragged him down with him, when he forced him to lie down when he needed to be _up_ , when Daniel pulled him off some perp saying he’d gone too far, when he hadn’t gone far enough-

_And sometimes, in those red-rimmed moments, he resented his partner for dragging him down, for pulling him back-_

And then the look on Dan’s face changed into pained resignation and it was like a punch to the gut.

“Daniel.” His voice was rough, and he forced it to smooth out, to make it as mild as he was capable of. “...What happened tonight?”

Dan sighed. “We snuck in, but we almost got caught by a civilian. The pimp’s kid, I think. Rorschach tried to, uh, detain him but he...was being pretty extreme about it-”

Rorschach huffed. “Chokehold not an extreme. No permanent damage.”

Walter’s head whipped around to stare at him and Dan continued on-without mentioning Rorschach pistol whipping the poor kid-in the hopes of forestalling the argument he could feel coming.

“I tried to stop the kid from passing out, but he managed to wriggle out and yell. Things...got out of hand.”

Dan ran a hand down his bandaged side, musing that would probably need stitches.

“Some thugs swarmed in. Two of them got lucky shots in; one cut me and the other put me on the ground. I must have passed out for a bit; and when I came too he wasn’t anywhere so I went looking and Rorschach had already taken out the pimp.”

Walter was silent, perfectly still for a moment, before walking over to stand in front of Rorschach. Stillness settled into the basement, and Dan knew that it was going to happen before he even knew what it was.

“You _left_.” He snarled, and punched him.

Rorschach reeled back, and Walter was on him before he could recover. He didn't stay that way; he immediately started fighting back with well-placed fists and elbows, but Dan bet that Walter couldn't even feel them. He got like this sometimes on patrol, a frenzy where Dan always has the lingering fear that someday he’d go too far-

And now, like any other time, it was up to Dan to pull him back from the edge.

He bodily lifted him off Rorschach. Usually his partner would have snarled and then shoved him away as soon as he was set down. This time, however, he twisted and struggled; and one of his sharp elbows managed to slam right into the wound. Dan dropped him with a hiss of pain and he pressed a hand to his side already feeling the blood seeping through. Walter paled, and looked at Rorschach helplessly. He’d never lost control this badly; and felt like he needed to reach out to the part of him that had the restraint.

Rorschach had other ideas. He pushed past them both and went upstairs, leaving Walter with the consequences. Rorschach slammed the door behind him when he went upstairs; and Daniel sighed. He grimaced, too, now really feeling the cut on his ribs and it felt like he might've ripped it even wider.

“Daniel.” Walter gave him a concerned look. “Do you need help?”

“Nah, I can patch it up.” He touched it and winced, realizing that this was going to be painful. But do-able. What he really needed right now was some space, peace and quiet away from both of them. “You should probably head out to work.”

He was silent for while, but eventually Walter reached out, the tips of his fingers lightly touching his side, examining. “I can stitch it for you.”

“Buddy-”

Eyes like steel balls stared back at him, uncompromising. “Sit. Down.”

Dan blinked in surprise and obediently sank down onto the chair. The wound was quickly numbed and cleaned; the stitches going in among silence. He looked back at Walter, and his face was pinched, shoulders tensed. Daniel decided to risk it.

“Walter,” He said slowly, “Why did you attack Rorschach?”

“...He left.” His voice hissed through gritted teeth. “Didn’t stay to see that you were okay. Or safe. He thought that catching the criminal was apparently more important than being a good partner.”

Dan turned to stare at him incredulously. His partner had always been obsessive about his pursuit of cleaning New York, but lately he almost felt like an unnecessary add-on. More and more often these last few months before the split he’d let Nite Owl fend for himself, working further afield and more or less without him. And, more and more over the past few months he felt that in Rorschach’s eyes keeping him as a partner and a friend had slid lower on his list of priorities, taking a backseat to his thirst for dispensing justice.

Dan swallowed and finally spoke. “But he had to-”

“ _No.”_ He snapped, and jerked his head up to stare back. “Daniel, we are partners. Your well-being is more of a priority than catching some low-level thug.”

He held eye contact for a moment, before breaking it to go back to finishing the stitches. The basement was silent for a moment, before he heard Walter speak again in a low, angry tone. “You should never think that you are less of a concern than that. Need to ask for help if you need it. Not just assume you should do it yourself.”

His voice went lower, almost inaudible; and he had the feeling that Walter was half talking to him, half to himself. “...Far too accepting of unacceptable behavior.”

Dan unexpectedly felt his eyes sting, and it wasn’t from the pain. Walter was actually admitting that he was sometimes a little callous about his safety and well being (and that had often hurt; sometimes literally, but more often deep in his chest: an ache that squeezed his heart) and at the same time Walter was berating himself for it. The statement was gruff, but it was a plain, flat admission that his partner cared deeply for him. He was really touched and about two seconds away from doing something extremely stupid. He swallowed, and scrabbled for a distraction.

“I, uh, have some leftovers in the fridge.” Dan said nervously.

Walter snorted. “You always have leftovers in the fridge. I also noticed they are all in takeout containers.”

“I never really learned how to cook.” Dan squirmed sheepishly, and then grimaced as it pulled his stitches. “I know, stupid. But every time I get food at the Gunga, they just pile it on. It’s like they think I need fattening up, or something.”

“Could be trying to do exactly that, Daniel. Never know what those foreigners use in their meat dishes; I suspect they don’t just stop at rats and family pets.” Walter gave him a sidelong look. “And I heard human tastes just like pork.”

Dan wanted to slap a palm to his forehead. The tender moment had passed, killed by a terribly racist and politically incorrect joke, and it was...actually kind of funny and _oh god_ ; his terrible humor was catching.

“You have such a twisted sense of humor buddy.” He said.

“I heard that laughter is the best medicine.” Walter bared a fierce grin at him. “Cheaper than an apple a day.”

Dan giggled helplessly, which hurt his ribs but hell, it was worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

Walter had to leave right after, of course, to his thankless day job. Good thing, too, or Dan might have done something stupid.

It worried him that Rorschach hadn't gone with him though. Usually they disliked being separated for longer than what was necessary. Hell, a lot of what happened tonight worried him. Sometimes he'd gotten the impression that his partner thought of him as more of a burden that a friend, and having that confirmed by half of his partner...hurt. A lot. And being left behind unconscious where any thug walking by could slit his throat, just wasn't _safe_. If he couldn't trust Rorschach to have his back-a basic fucking tenement of partnership-why should they be partners?

Rorschach, unaware of Dan's thoughts, stared into the depth of the fridge like it held the answers to his own. Behind him, he heard Daniel come up the stairs, the steps pausing as he grabbed a frozen bag of peas and pressed it against his cheek. 

"...How's your jaw?"

He nudged the freezer door shut with his shoulder, thinking about abusive mothers and the sons of abusers as the cold numbed the pain. 

"Will be fine."

Dan sat down across from him and silently observed him for a while.

"You left me behind."

He peeled the makeshift ice-pack off his face and worked his jaw, getting mobility back into it.

"Didn't notice you fall." He cracked his jaw and made a satisfied 'hrmm.' "Could only focus on the goal of apprehending the perp. Thought you were right behind."

"So it wasn't because you ' didn't want to hold my hand '?"

Rorschach stared at him while he prodded a loose tooth. He'd lost the part of himself that could categorize the expression and tone as sarcasm or even anger, and spoke he spoke carefully. 

"You are a capable vigilante. Don't need me to hold your hand. Was angry at Walter for attempts at micromanagement." He paused. "...It's concerning that you were unconscious and it went unnoticed. Will not happen again."

"Oh." Dan breathed out and his shoulders sagged. Rorschach wasn't great at detecting sarcasm, but he was sure that those were the signs that he'd managed to reassure his partner. "That's...really good to know. But, uh, you still used a lot of force on that kid."

Rorschach didn't reply. He didn't see Daniel's point, but then again it was his other half that knew _when_ to apply restraint. Pity it wasn't him that had gotten that. 

They both fell silent after that. The pause stretched on as Rorschach went back to pressing the bag of frozen peas to his jaw. Dan silently went about the kitchen in the background, and after a moment, slid a bowlful of canned beans in front of him. Walter would have recognized the subtle gesture of forgiveness, but it was lost on Rorschach. He cautiously ate the beans, mindful of his loose tooth.

He finished, and looked up at Daniel. "Walter is likely still angry. Stay the night?" 

Dan blinked, confused for a second, before he could translate that into him requesting to stay over tonight. His partner dropped pronouns sometimes, especially if he was feeling stressed or tired, and his sentences would become very clipped or terse, although never usually quite like...this. It was like he was purposely avoiding using ‘I’ and it was pretty bizarre and out of character. 

Dan gave him a concerned look. "Uh, sure. You can sleep in the guest room."

As soon as he was done eating, Rorschach vanished upstairs, leaving him with the dishes. Dan watched him go, the worried look on his face deepening. _How do you make up after a fight when the person you fought with is_ you _?_

\---

_Knock, knock, knock._

Dan groaned, burrowing further under the covers and trying to block out the noise. There was a long pause, and he almost fell back asleep.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Dan snarled and kicked off the covers. he tried his best to conceal his money, but somehow the damn door-to-door salesmen always found him, despite being unlisted. More that once he'd fantasized about moving to rural Texas and shooting at the salesmen that dared visit. Trying that in a nice neighborhood like this would get the cops called on him, and the 'eccentric billionaire' excuse could only go so far. Dan staggered down the stairs in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, wanting nothing of what they were selling.

"Whatever it is, I don't want it!" he screamed at the door, not even bothering to open it. "I'm not buying anything you're selling!"

"What about a Kirby vacuum?"

"NO!"

"Not even a veg-omatic?"

"I told you-" Wait, that voice sounded familiar.

Dan yanked open the door and of _course_ Walter was standing there. The smartass.

"...I get a lot of door-to-door salesmen?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That a question, Daniel?"

Dan rolled his eyes. "Just get in here already."

Walter followed him in, and Dan bustled around the kitchen making coffee because that's what a socially awkward nerd like him does when he's trying to avoid a tricky subject. Thankfully, it was Walter that spoke first.

"Did Rorschach stay here last night?"

"Yeah, uh..." Fuck, what could he even _say_? "He's in the guest room." 

Thankfully, he didn't ask any more questions and he didn't have to give him any more awkward answers, but the silence in the kitchen wasn't much better. Dan squirmed while Walter sat in his customary seat and stared at nothing. The ticking of the clock was getting to be too much. 

"How are your stitches?" Again, Walter spoke first, which was...unusual, considering his distaste for small talk.

"They're fine." He ran a hand down them, checking. No inflammation or fever, so no infection. They were tender, but not too bad. Walter watched him, eyes locked on the spot where the stitches had gone in, and Dan could guess that he was seeing the moment he'd lost control and hurt his friend.

"They'll heal.' Dan said, looking at him until he caught Walter's eye. "I'm fine."

He held Dan's gaze for a moment, before nodding and looking away, and Dan decided to push his luck.

"Rorschach didn't leave me on purpose." He said gently. "He was so focused on catching that guy that he didn't see me fall."

Walter chewed on that for a moment. "Never happened before, and I've never been so focused that I didn't notice you _unconscious on the floor._ " 

His voice softened. "I'm supposed to have your back."

That...was true. His partner was obsessed with clearing the streets-sometimes scarily so-but Dan had never been left to languish passed out in some room while his partner chased down perps. He might grumble about it, but last night's revelations showed that he wasn't really sincere in his complaints and the anger and frustration wasn't directed at him, but at himself.   
He put his hand down on Walter's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I know buddy."

Walter made some complicated little noise that sounded a lot like frustration and little like despair, and let Dan's hand until he released him. Although he wished he could do more, this was probably the most overt gesture of comfort that Walter could gracefully accept. Dan set a cup of coffee in front of him, and sat down with his own. The tension in the room had lifted, and now it was just the usual silence of two people busy drinking their coffee and thinking their own thoughts. It gave Dan a chance to think about why Rorschach had been so blinded as he swirled the dregs around in the bottom of the mug, and one potential answer swam up.

When he was younger, Dan's interest in aviation, birds, and other subjects was damn near close to obsession. He'd spend hours buried in them, neglecting food, sleep, and the few friends he'd had. He had better control now, and could tear himself away knowing it was unhealthy to loose himself like that. Back then, he'd lived vicariously through his hobbies with such a laser-guided focus it had worried his mother enough to stage 'interventions' just the get him out of the house. He'd resented it at the time, but now he was grateful that she'd done it or else he may have never found the willpower to stop hiding and become Nite Owl. Looking at Walter, he wondered if this was the part that had gotten the willpower and wider focus; leaving Rorschach with the obsession for cleaning the streets and little room for anything else.

"I'm pretty sure this is a one-off thing that'll be fixed once you two re-unite." Dan said, trying to be as reassuring as possible as he could be without offending.

Walter made a noncommittal noise, but looked reassured and Dan smiled at him. "Well buddy, I've gotta go repair my costume. Come down and join me when you feel like it, okay?"

He nodded, and Dan left him to nurse his coffee.


	14. Chapter 14

Walter sat for a little while more, circuitous thoughts chasing themselves around in his head, and he wasn't really sure what to think about his other half now. His stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts, and he growled back. He hadn't bothered to stop at his apartment to eat before coming to Dan's after work, he knew there was no food in the house. It had been hard enough feeding just one person on his salary, now he had to feed two. One that ate like a horse and managed to strip his cupboards bare despite having eaten at Daniels. He sighed, and dug around in the cupboards for sugar cubes to chew on, virtuously ignoring the cans of beans in his way. Unlike his other half he refused to be such a shameless mooch.   
He found them in the back with some baking supplies, and Walter chewed away as he contemplated why someone who never cooked-much less baked-had flour, salt, and other miscellaneous supplies. As far as he knew, Daniel relied on takeout. Taking down the flour, he could see that the date was far from fresh, but looking inside he didn't see any mold or bugs and living on the edge like he did taught him when suspicious food was still good. Digging around in the fridge netted him some eggs from the back, and a carton of milk with the last swig inside still good. It had been a long time since he'd made these, as he had neither the time or the money to buy the ingredients. He could still remember the recipe from Charleston's home ect class, mandatory for every resident even if they were boys.

And it wouldn't count as mooching if he _shared_...

\---

Nearly a half-hour later, Dan was done with washing and repairing his suit, and wondering why Walter hadn't come down. He trudged his way up the stairs, fully expecting that when hi opened the door it would be to an empty kitchen, his partner having drunk his coffee and left. Instead, he was treated to one of the more bizarre sights of his life.

"Hn, good timing Daniel." Walter expertly flipped the pancakes like he was goddamn Julia Child, and if Dan had ever though that his partner cooking in his kitchen would end in screaming and flames, his fears were unfounded. Walter gave him a funny look and Dan realized he'd been staring, probably with a pole-axed look on his face. He coughed to cover up his embarrassment.

"Uh...are those done?"

Walter nodded. "Yes. Grab a plate."

Again they were sitting down at the table, this time with pancakes instead of coffee. Dan suppterisouly prodded one, and if one side was a trifle burnt than it was still a hell of a lot better than his own disastrous attempts at cooking.

"I don't think I have any-"

Walter looked up from drowning his pancakes in chocolate syrup.

"...Never mind."

Well, maple syrup might be traditional, but chocolate syrup was just fine. More than fine, actually, since this was the first home cooked meal he'd had in ages. He polished off his plate fairly quickly, and was thinking about licking it. The only thing that stopped him was the faintly amused look on Walter's face.

"It's been a while since I've had homemade pancakes."

Walter eyed his kitchen trash, which was mounded over with takeout containers, and arched an eyebrow at him.

"Or homemade anything."

Dan was save any more teasing by the ringing of the phone, and he answered it with as clear of reply as he could while still chewing. "Dreiberg residence."

Walter was treated to half a conversation while he ate the rest of his own stack, which were really more of a vessel for chocolate syrup than anything else. The caller was female; guessing by the pitch, someone Daniel seemed familiar with. He wondered briefly if she was a girlfriend, but he wasn't about to jump to conclusions. Not only was Daniel rather chatty and would have mentioned her, the physical and mental demands of being Nite Owl left little room for relationships, not to mention it was a security risk.

"Thanks Sandra, I'd be happy to help." Dan lowered the phone and covered the receiver. "Remember that cockfighting ring we busted last-"

"Daniel." He interrupted, exasperated. "Rorschach was there, not me."

"Oh! Uh, right." Dan looked apologetic. "Well, anyway, they guy we caught last night wasn't just Chen's right hand man, he also had a cockfighting ring. And a freaking tiger, but that's besides the point."

"And your point is-?"

"Well, I have a friend at the humane society and they got the chickens confiscated from the perp. I volunteer there sometimes with their birds, so she asked me to come down and lend a hand. The humane society gets a lot of the leftovers from whenever a cockfighting or dogfighting ring gets busted, and it's a good place to hang out and overhear information that the cops picked up when they do a bust."

Walter nodded. "Surprising way to get information, but I can see why you go there. It's a crime in itself, but dog fighting and cock fighting often go hand in hand with drug dealing and other crime." 

"Well," Dan was practically dancing on the spot "Do you wanna come with me?"

Walter had the feeling that Dan wanted him to go with him for more than just investigative purposes. He could see through the thin veneer of justification that Dan was presenting and was pretty sure that this was more like a hobby than a way to gain information. A hobby Daniel wanted to include him in, _share_ with him. He was only somewhat annoyed at the half-lie. More importantly, he was afraid of the level of familiarity and closeness Daniel was trying to achieve. He'd kept his mask on for their partnership as a preventative to exactly that, to keep their partnership from evolving into real friendship, because he was afraid of what Daniel might think of the person under it. 

_Mentally unbalanced, prone to bursts of violence, socially underdeveloped-_

He still remembered the thick lines of ink in the psychology profile that had cost him the opportunity of being a cop. He’d studied to be one, and thought that he could put his skills and drive to good uses, but the look of repulsion on the evaluator’s face was a faint mirror image of the looks of horror and disgust on bystander's faces when he'd been lifted off that other boy. The closer Daniel got, the higher the chances he might see why Walter had kept his distance. It was why they had the deal. A deal that Walter would keep his distance in exchange for what he needed, but he remembered those cold imitations of intimacy a few nights ago and he realized that he wanted more than that. He craved the warmth and closeness of friendship; sharing hotdogs in the park and walks to the library and so many other things that agreement couldn't provide. He needed closeness, and he needed distance, and he didn't know if he could do both.  
This was a tightrope that he knew he shouldn't walk. 

Walter paused. "...NYPD may have found something cleaning up after us last night."


	15. Chapter 15

Sandra greeted Daniel in the lobby, surprised to see him accompanied by someone she didn't recognize. She could count the number of times someone had come with him on one hand, one of them being rather memorable. She’d been some gold-digging socialite that had been willing to accompany Dan to the shelter but had been absolutely horrified to learn Dan actually expected her to clean cages. This one didn't look too thrilled to be here either but he looked more nervous than anything. She wouldn't be surprised to learn if he'd never owned a pet before and really had no idea how to handle animals. She might have to run interference if Dan wanted to introduce him to Peaty, the large and rather intimidating parrot in the back. Dan's adoration of anything and everything feathery sometimes blinded him to the notion that not everyone shared his fondness for birds. 

The man introduced himself with a mumbled 'Walter' and a handshake that felt like a dead fish. Sandra withheld her judgment though, despite knowing the type of people that a rich, trusting person like Dan attracted and the less than stellar first impression. She took them both to the back to their storage space, and usually it was for keeping kibble and other supplies. Now, however, it had been commandeered to house the overflow of roosters, hens and chicks from the cockfighting rings as they had no other place to put them. Dan was no vet, but he knew enough about avian behavior and physiology to examine the animals and immediately got suited up. Walter looked on in confusion as he donned thick gauntlets to handle the roosters, then wondered no more as he went down the line and was pecked and stabbed by the rooster's long spurs. Many of them had razor blades attached to their legs in place of spurs, which were sharp enough to pierce thick gloves and flesh, making them especially dangerous and tricky to handle. They were still in the crude wood and chicken wire cages they'd been picked up in at the scene because the blades made them too dangerous for anyone but the most skilled-and ballsy-people to handle. It was part of the reason why Sandra had called him in. They were too small to shoot with a tranquilizer gun, and no one but herself and her most ambitious vet techs wanted anything to do with them. But there was just so _many_ of them. So, it was down to her calling in backup in the form of Dan Dreiberg (or 'bird whisperer' as the people around here had nicknamed him) to swipe his vulnerable arms around inside the cage of an angry animal with the equivalent of prison shanks strapped to its legs. Pretty impressive for a guy that dressed like a old English professor, down to the cardigans and coke-bottle glasses. That kind of contradiction had been part of why she'd dated him in college up until she moved away to Utah to finish training. They'd broken up-neither of them wanted a long distance relationship-but she'd struck up a friendship once she'd moved back. 

It was a nail-biting process, but so far it was accomplished without injury. Each animal was evaluated, the blades removed, and placed into a clean cage. As he went down the line checking off boxes she could see he shoulders slump a little more, and Walter seemed to notice too, watching from where she'd put him to work cleaning cages. He hadn't been too concerned about being told to scrape bird shit off galvanized wire, but he was looking concerned now. He gave her a questioning look, and she finished up force-feeding an antibiotic dropper down a hen's throat and went over to him. 

"He's upset because we're going to have to euthanize the roosters." She gave a resigned sigh. "They've been bred and trained for fighting, and they're too aggressive to go to a home."  
He looked over at Dan, who was still working steadily, and an expression flickered over his face. She might have said it looked like he was feeling sorry for him, but he went back to scrubbing before she could decipher his severe, usually impassive face.

"He's always been fond of birds." Walter said quietly.

She cocked her head. "How long have you known him?"

He paused, fishing for an answer, still not looking up at her. He'd barely kept eye contact with her for more than a few seconds ever since he got here, and she started to wonder if he was just shy. 

"A while." He went back to scrubbing even more vigorously, obviously wanting to end the conversation.

She decided to push it. "He's never mentioned you."

"Not much to say."

She raised an eyebrow. _Okay, maybe not shy. More like cagey..._

At this point the cage was clean enough to eat off, and it was the last one of the bunch. She decided to let him be-for now-and instead instructed him to refill the food and water bowls while she went on the rest of the hens. Many of them were in poor shape, and she could see a lot of scratches in her future from forcing antibiotics into them. A local farm was already interested in adopting them, and they needed to look their best for when they stopped by to have a look. She kept an eye on Walter while she worked though. People tended to underestimate chickens just because they were small and more than once had some careless volunteer been scratched bloody by rescued birds. He should be safe so long as he stuck to her instructions _not_ to open the cage or stick his fingers in.

And of course, the next time she looked up to check on him he'd done exactly that.

He hadn't even gotten very far down the line, and was crouched down in front of one of the rooster's cages. He was so close she was worried he might lose an eye and that's when both she and Dan noticed that he had the cage door open and his whole damn arm inside. Dan got there first because he practically bolted over to him.

"Uhh, buddy?" Dan said, a little shrilly, "What are you doing?" 

"Making a new friend."

And now they could see that the rooster inside the cage was calmly eating feed right out of his hand, as casual as you please. It was also notably different from the other roosters; it was bigger, for one. The other roosters were gamecocks bred for fighting, so they were small and lean, and their combs and wattles were either bred out or clipped off to keep them from being ripped. This rooster was more of the classic barnyard type, comb and wattle still present. It was obviously tame, probably a family pet. In fact it was so tame he allowed Dan to pick him up and hold him, looking around in mild curiosity at his surroundings from his perch in Dan's arms. The rooster had already been marked for euthanasia by one of her vet techs, someone who probably just checked off the box without even looking at the animal, operating on the assumption that all of the roosters were no good for adoption. Obviously this little guy was different, but she could see how the mistake was made. Dan saw the check mark on the cage's chart, and he hugged the bird even closer.

She gave him a gentle smile. "I'll get it changed Dan, don't you worry."

That reassured him enough to let the squirming rooster go back to his cage. It might be only one rooster out of forty that could be saved, but by the look on Dan's face it would do. Sandra gave a point in Walter's favor for being so sharp-eyed, otherwise this bird would have been headed for a shallow grave instead of a nice retirement out on a family farm. She changed the chart right there and put a big, bright yellow sticky note saying that the bird was not to be euthanized for good measure, and Dan gave her a relived smile.


	16. Chapter 16

After tending to the chickens, Sandra pulled him away to help with a few dogs that they had also confiscated. Dan left to clean cages, feed and water the shelters avian population, and he would have preferred to go with him but Sandra had asked for his assistance and he had no idea how to politely say no. So he was restricted to helping her with the newest canine additions, helping her instead of an assistant because they were short staffed. Apparently a high number of staff was still at the house they'd raided last night, stuffing exotic-and dangerous-animals into cages so they could be taken to a large wild animal sanctuary upstate. 

"The house that got busted last night was just a small piece of the property." Sandra chatted away as she handled half-feral dogs. "They guy had a u-storage place out back, and he's been keeping bears and tigers and god knows what else in the buildings."

Walter cocked an eyebrow. Maybe visiting the shelter wasn't as much of a hobby as he thought it was, because he was definitely getting a lot of information. His other half didn't have the drive to investigate, so he hadn't even inspected the property after cuffing the perp, and therefore hadn't known of the extent of the operation Chen's associate had. Underage prostitutes from China, and now exotic animals from all over the world and a cockfighting ring. The borders of Chen's business ventures were far broader than he had first estimated; and warranted even more investigation. At least it seemed that dog fighting wasn't on the table. The canines they inspected were skinny, timid things that the volunteers had found roaming the u-storage grounds. They were likely mutts that were kept on the property as a warning system and a deterrent to intruders, although they probably did little to intimidate. It was hard to be afraid of something when it was half-starved and riddled with disease, skinny enough to shatter like glass with one good kick. He was not a bleeding-heart animal lover, but anything that was small and completely dependent on human caretakers got his sympathy. 

Most of the animals were so feral they had to be carefully handled, or they would snap. No sudden movements, soft quiet tones, and patience were the most effective methods at gaining enough trust to allow themselves to be led from cage to examination table. Sandra actually complimented him, surprised to see him handle the animals so well. Perhaps it was because he empathized with them; having his own share of abuse and neglect, and growing up in a home with so many similar cases. The caseworkers had treated him much the same way, and it seemed the method worked on both small children and animals.

Most of them didn't have collars, except for one. It might have been a house pet at one time, because it wasn't quite as feral, though definitely was just as scared. Eagerness for human affection won out over fear though, and it managed to wag it's tail and eye him beseechingly. He gave it a few awkward pets, not really sure how to pet a dog since he'd never owned one before. It didn't seem to mind, wagging it's tail and licking his jaw a few times, nearly making him gag and jerk away at the horrid smell of its breath. Apparently, the saying of 'dog's breath' wasn't just a saying.

"Aw, she likes you." Sandra gave the dog a scratch behind the ears. "Well, that's a good sign at least. She'll probably be an adoptable sweetie once she's had a couple of good meals and a bath." 

"And a breath mint." He grimaced, wiping his chin on his sleeve. 

Sandra laughed and checked the dog's mouth, seeing a lot of tater and a missing tooth. She cooed in sympathy, seeing were it had been torn out and healed. "Poor baby. Well, nothing a good teeth cleaning and a proper diet can't cure."

That, however, would have to wait. She was too busy with the overflow of animals to do it herself, and anything that wasn't life threatening would have to hold off until the rest of the animals were checked out. A few of the dogs were practically wild, and had to be muzzled and physically restrained so she could draw blood. Now he could see why she'd brought him with her, his expertise at restraining perps and his strength came in handy here. It was the cats, to his surprise, that were the most difficult. A dozen had been found on the property, all completely feral, not pets in the least. He was instructed to wear thick gloves and an equally thick vest to handle them, and to grab them by the scruff. It didn't really keep them from squirming around and biting the hell out of both, but it kept them from getting away. Sandra cheerfully informed him that cat skeletons were more cartilage than bone, and they had loose skins. All it meant to him that they could practically twist themselves into knots to sink their claws into his protective layers, which he was now very grateful that she forced him to wear. Sandra seemed completely unperturbed by this, still chatting on. She was now on the subject of how she'd met Daniel, and he listened the best he could with an angry feline in one hand that had no interest in having its blood drawn. At least this one was quieter than the last few ones, growling low in its throat instead of yowling like an out of tune violin.

"We didn't have very many overlapping classes, with me studying to be a vet and him going for a major in engineering and a minor in Ornithology, but we both happened to have an interest in birds. I wanted to branch out of the usual dogs and cats and be able to treat birds, since there's not many vets that can, and the vet field is pretty competitive. He said he was interested in birds because he wanted to come up with new aircraft designs, but that was a lie."

Walter pricked his ears, listening hard. "...It was?"

"Well, yeah. Jesus, anyone who's known him for more than a few minutes can see that." She laughed. "He's obsessed with the dang things. Hey, don't get me wrong, I like them well enough. But I don't memorize the feeding habits of a flightless new Zeeland parrot."

Walter felt the corner of his lip twitch. "Kakapo."

She cocked her head, giving him a confused look.

"It's called a kakapo." He smiled a little. "Very rare. Nearly extinct."

Sandra threw back her head and laughed. "So, you've heard him go on about them too?"

"Not the worst habit a person could have." He said, feeling a little protective. He'd had his share of being tormented for his interests in literature growing up, and didn't like the idea of Daniel being mocked for his. 

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with having an intellectual interest in birds. He's just a little obsessed. Just a little though, not enough to hurt." She smiled at him, and he relaxed. She didn't seem to have any ill intentions, just the good natured-ribbing between friends. 

"Really, it's part of his charm. Between the interest in birds and the sweater-vests he wears, it's like he was born to be an old English professor. All that's missing is the accent and the pipe." She combed through the cat's fur, looking for potential parasites. "And he's a true gentleman too. Around him, you'd almost believe that chivalry wasn't dead."

He knew for a fact that his partner had many thick books on various Arthurian legends, and from the wear, he was sure he'd read them hundreds of times. The world laughed at and mocked the kind of sincerity and idealism codified in them, but Daniel did believe in those kind of ideals and try his best to embody them. He was a hardened cynic, but around Daniel...yes, sometimes he could almost believe that this city and the people in it could be decent and were worth saving.

"I am inclined to agree." He said quietly.

She made an agreeing noise as she gently peeled back the cat's lips to look over it's teeth. "It's a pity he has such difficulty with finding a girl. He hasn't had a date in ages, and the last one was some gold-digger that had this horrible, pinched in sour face. She was gorgeous, but that was the only thing going for her. I was glad when he broke up with her though, being single is better for him than being with that harpy."

He grimaced, remembering The Twilight lady, and was again inclined to agree. His partner was shamefully weak when it came to a particular kind of beautiful woman. The way Sandra discussed him and his previous girlfriend, and the way he behaved however, seemed to imply a level of familiarity that was more than just friends.

"You seem to think highly of him." He said carefully.

"Well, I'd know. I dated the guy in college." She said casually. 

He mentally sighed, knowing he really should have seen that coming. He didn't feel jealousy, he didn't have the right to. Daniel was a straight male, he could date whatever female he liked. Having shameful homosexual feelings for him didn't give him the grounds to object to it or to feel anger or sadness when hearing of past girlfriends or even the few current ones he'd had at the very beginning of their partnership. The only time he had the right to object was when it was with the Twilight Lady, who was an amoral whore that presented an actual threat of harm against him. All that he could do was hope silently from the sidelines that Dan would find a decent woman for once and try to squash the nasty feeling of selfish satisfaction when he ended a bad relationship.

Ignorant of his thoughts, Sandra continued on. "We didn't get far though. I had to go out to Utah to finish training, and neither of us wanted a long-distance relationship."

"You're back now." He said without thinking, and winced, knowing how insinuating that was. She didn't seem to notice.

"Eh, I found a nice guy of my own out there. He came back with me because his family is here, same reason why I came back." She smiled. "He's also old fashioned; wanted to ask my Dad's permission in person, not over the phone."

Walter cocked his head. "To do what?"

"To ask for my hand in marriage." She smiled, and drew her engagement ring out from under her lab coat. It was sensibly on a chain, which was convenient with all the latex gloves she had to wear. She went on to describe her marital plans, probably knowing that he wasn't all the interested-being male and a near stranger-but it was new enough to be exciting, and probably wanted to tell everyone she met. Her plans were very quintessential American family, complete with white picket fence, a dog, and 2.5 children. As much as it pained him to admit, it was easy to substitute Daniel into the picture, just by altering the circumstances slightly and swapping out the dog for a bird. It was even easier to see just how happy he would have been, ignorant of a life as Nite Owl, dandling children on his knee instead of using them to drop a criminal to the ground.

"Sandra." He said. "When was the last time he...dated a woman you felt was a good match?"

"Honestly? I don't remember." She flicked her hair back, her face thoughtful. "He hasn't had a date, period, in at least a year. Probably longer, I don't get to see him much."

They plucked up another cat, this time a boney creature that didn't have much fight in it, and she made soft noises of sympathy over it's condition, gently tending to a few scratches. Preparing for her future parental role perhaps, and he wondered if Daniel did the same over the birds down the hall, missing the future opportunity to do the same to his own children. Their vigilante career left little time and privacy for him to look for a suitable woman, to find someone to share such closeness and intimacy. 

He wondered if Daniel ever got lonely.

Almost as if she read his thoughts, she spoke. "He seems okay, though. He does sometimes complain about his dry spells, but he says he's got good company in his friends."

"Friends?" 

"Oh, he keeps up with his collage friends." She finished her evaluation of the feline, who was starved and dehydrated but not in immediate danger. "And he's never mentioned you by name, but you fit the description. You visit him pretty regularly, right?"

"Yes." He wasn't sure what to say, not knowing what Daniel had told her about him or how they knew each other.

"Yeah, he says you are good friend of his." She smiled sidelong at him. "And that you tell the most terrible jokes."

True, Daniel usually did cheer up after a particularly bad patrol with a well placed, deadpan pun. He'd groan in exasperation, then laugh at how horrible they were. It worked almost every time.

"Doesn't take much." He said, smiling a little. "Usually good-natured."


	17. Chapter 17

Dan had long since finished with watering and feeding the birds here. He'd cleaned all of the cages, removed broken toys, and installed new cuttlefish bone treats. A pair of pale, lemon-yellow cockatiels were enjoying the bird bath he'd drawn for them, splashing in the shallow tray while he fixed the bent swing in their cage. He was seriously starting to wonder where Walter had gotten to when the door opened behind him.

 _Speak of the devil._ "Get in quick, or Peaty will try to fly out."

Walter blinked, looking around. "Peaty...?"

"Present." Croaked a voice, and he turned to see a huge, multicolored parrot perched on top of his cage, gnawing away on a wood toy. Dan had let him out to get some exercise, and while his wings were clipped he could still fly a few feet. Peaty, however, was more interested in observing the newcomer than attempting escape.

"Peaty is a good boy." It said, and fluttered over to the top of the empty cockatiels cage, closer to him. It surveyed him with a yellow, button-like eye, croaking to itself like it was critiquing his appearance. He did the same, sans the clucking noise, observing that it was very large with long talons and an enormous hooked beak. He knew what parrots were of course, had seen them in pictures and on the television, not to mention heard all about the extensive parrot family _psittacine_ from Daniel. He hadn't expected them to be so...large, in person. He remembered Daniel telling him that he'd heard of parrots chewing through the bars of their cages- _metal_ bars-and decided to give the animal a large berth. He moved closer to Daniel, and watched him watch the birds splash in the shallow tub. His partner had a soft, affectionate look on his face that he'd seen only a few times. Usually directed towards adoring young fans, and occasionally-when he thought he wasn't looking-aimed at him. 

One bird was struggling to get out of the tub, done with it's bath, and Daniel obligingly put down his hand so it could perch on his index finger. It chirruped to itself while he dried it with a cloth, and Dan whistled back, the two of them holding a wordless conversation. He fussed and baby-talked to both of them in the kind of high-pitched voice women usually reserved for infants. Usually his partner would die of embarrassment if he witnessed him going gooey over anything, but right now he seemed lost in his own little world, completely unselfconscious. It was...good to see him enjoying himself like this, not worrying about his appearance or people's perception of him, only concerned with enjoying the presence of his beloved avian friends and taking good care of them. It was similar to the bursts of creativity that he had sometimes with his engineering projects, babbling on enthusiastically about a new invention of his, using him as a sounding board for his ideas even though he knew next to nothing about engineering. Daniel would light up with enthusiasm, his usual self-conciseness gone under the flood of excitement. But this was calmer, and definitely quieter, but wasn't any less...he didn't want to use the word 'endearing'. He didn't want to. It implied...things that he'd rather not think about. 

_**Endearing:** adjective 1. tending to make dear or beloved. 2. manifesting or evoking affection: an **endearing** smile. 3. inspiring love or affection. synonyms: lovable, sweet, dear, delightful,-_

He twitched, and grimaced. It didn't help that he'd memorized the dictionary as a young, bored kid in Charleston, and trying to come up with a better word just listed even worse synonyms. He immediately modulated the expression back to neutral, hoping Daniel hadn't noticed. he was the type to take a lot of things personally, and he'd probably think it was directed at him. It wasn't until both of the birds were back in their cages that his partner stopped being in his own little euphoric bubble, coming back to himself. He nervously looked over at Walter, and he smiled reassuringly. He tried not to let it get to overly affectionate, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded. 

"Are you going to introduce me to your friends?" He said, as casually as he could manage.

Daniel grinned, the natural enthusiasm back, and he was immediately given a tour of the residents. Many of the animals had been surrendered by people that were no longer able to care for them, while some had been seized from unfit homes. Budgies, cockatiels, finches, love birds, and of course, the parrot that had been eyeing him earlier. Peaty was unique case, as he had actually _outlived_ his owner, and with no descendants to care for him, had been given up to the shelter. Peaty was a 'macaw', a type of parrot that lived, on average, 50 years. He'd lived most of his life with his previous owner, and had been, as Dan put it, 'depressed' when he'd come to the shelter.

"It took a couple of days to get him to eat." Dan said, petting the enormous bird. "Macaws get so attached it stresses them out a lot when they lose their owners."

"You have said that they are intelligent." Walter said. "Did he realize that his owner was deceased?" 

"Well, they are about as smart as a five year old, so I think they have something of a concept of 'death'. Or at least realize that their owner isn't around anymore. Whether or not they morn...well, that's a bit of a complex question." Dan brought the parrot close in to his body, and the macaw cuddled in against his chest, reminding him of the dog from earlier that had been eager for any affection. "Most zoologist are cynics and don't think so. They think of birds or any animal as just machines running on instincts. Anyone who thinks otherwise is ignorant, unprofessional, and anthropomorphizing them too much."

"And you?"

"I think they do in a way." Dan smiled. "Then again, I'm not really a professional zoologist. Just an enthusiast."

His lip twitched in a half-smile. "You're also not a cynic."

Dan chuckled, and for a moment just lavished the bird with affection. It's lower eyelid drew up until its eyes were almost closed, which Daniel happily explained was a sure sign of contentment.

"Poor Peaty here doesn't get enough attention." He cooed. "I really should come by more. He had a really devoted owner for the longest time, so he's just starved for interaction."

"You don't want to adopt him?" Walter cocked his head. He would think that Dan, bird lover that he was, would have his own aviary. He'd learned of his partner's enthusiasm for them fairly early on in their mutual crime-fighting career, and he always wondered why he never had a pet bird of his own.

"I could pretty much die any time out on patrol." Dan said softly. "I just couldn't imagine having him experience loosing another owner. That would just be cruel."

He gave the top of the bird's head a kiss. "The same goes for any bird, really. I'd hate to think of any of them all of sudden taken from the home they've gotten used to and dumped here. It's better that they go to a stable home they can live in for the rest of their lives."

"Hrrm." Their wasn't really anything he could say to that, nothing that he could say out loud at least. Dan had always been a bleeding heart and a sentimental man, emphatic to a fault. Sometimes his gentleness was almost sickening to his mile-wide streak of cynicism, but Daniel just wouldn't be _Daniel_ without it. That quality was a huge part of his character, and it was exasperating and charming at the same time. Peaty seemed to be in agreement with him, at least in finding his gentleness endearing. He was grinding his beak-another sign of pleasure, Dan said, despite how much it sounded like when Walter was angry enough to grind his teeth-as Dan scratched his neck. He wondered what the ruffled feathers felt like, having never touched a live bird. Almost as if he read his mind, Dan grinned at him.

"Hey, do you want to hold him?"

Of course, another part of Daniel was his overwhelming enthusiasm and his need to _share_ his favorite things, whether it came in the form of talking his ear off about his projects or trying to thrust a large bird into his arms. He eyed the bird's thick, curved bill, and was reminded of tinsnips. He didn't want to offend Daniel, but he didn't want to lose a finger either.

"I'm not...very experienced with birds." He said carefully.

Daniel must have picked up on how uncomfortable he was-probably from how he was fighting a whole-body lean away from the animal-and smiled gently. "Really, he's safe. He previous owner raised him by hand, and he's very well-trained."

Eventually he held out a hand, and Daniel transferred the bird to him. It was a peculiar sensation, the feeling of dry, rough, scaly feet moving on his extended fist. The claws weren't as sharp as he'd feared, although they still dug into his skin a little. He still wasn't completely at ease with the animal, but the macaw didn't seem to have the same problem. Peaty was, as far as he could tell, fascinated. He swung his head from side to side, first examining him with the left eye, then the right, bobbing his head. It babbled to itself too, mostly saying 'hello' and vague nonsense.

"You can try petting him, if you want." Dan said, encouragingly.

He didn't want. What he _wanted_ was for Dan to remove the animal before it went for his fingers. And while he might remember Daniel mentioning that all parrots ate fruit and nuts, he was pretty sure that a beak like that could easily bite through flesh, no matter the diet. The next time he got curious about what ruffled feathers felt like, he'd pet a feather duster instead of the real thing.

"I'm fine." He said, very evenly. "...Maybe you should take him back."

Peaty was of a different opinion. Walter froze as the animal started to work it's way up his arm, barely breathing as the bird finally perched itself on his shoulder. Eye-to-beady-eye with him, Walter wondered if he might suddenly loose one of his own, and have to go about life with an eye patch. Almost as if he'd read his mind, Peaty spoke again.

"Arrr, matey." It growled, and Dan stifled a laugh. Walter scowled at him, which just turned made it worse.

"I think he likes you." Dan managed to get out, in between giggles.

"The feeling isn't mutual." Walter growled. 

Daniel did eventually remove him, still giggling. Peaty didn't object, which Walter was grateful for. The macaw was content to ride on Daniel's shoulder instead, happily leaning on the side of his head and running that powerful beak through his hair, 'preening' him. It unnerved him, but of course Dan seemed perfectly at ease having the end of his curls nibbled on by a parrot, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He moved on to another cage, carefully unlatching it.

"Here," Dan said, lifting out one of the residents inside, "Let's try with something a bit easier."


	18. Chapter 18

This new creature was quite a bit smaller, though just as colorful as the macaw. It's head was a bright, lemon yellow with the rest of the body a lime green. Again he was treated to the odd sensation of tiny feet moving across his finger, but just one finger was needed to hold the diminutive bird. It's weight could probably be measured in ounces, instead of pounds. Like the macaw though, it was bright and inquisitive, examining him thoroughly first with the left eye, then the right. It nibbled at his sleeve, as curious as a toddler, and he couldn't help but smile. He'd never understood his partner's obsession with birds-and probably never would-but looking at this small animal, he could see the appeal.

"It's a budgie. Unfortunately, the owner didn't give the names of any of his birds when he dropped them off, so I don't know what to call him." Dan said, trying to fight the grin off his face. His grim partner was smiling-an actual smile, not a sarcastic smirk-and it was really nice to see it. He'd never thought he'd get to see his partner's face, much less see him actually make human expressions.

It was even better that-through a fortunate series of events-he had him standing here in the shelter, letting him share a hobby that was very near and dear to him. His partner was one of a very small group of individuals that didn't find his obsessions annoying or weird, and he was the _only_ person he knew that would let him ramble on about aeronautics for an hour and actually listen and try to offer their input, even if they knew nothing about it. Every one else had been put off by Rorschach's drive for justice and intensity, hell, even his mentor had a few reservations when he'd told him he'd teamed up with the infamous 'terror of the underworld'. And yes, his partner was sometimes standoffish and prickly at times, but the guy had _never_ belittled his interests. He'd also never mocked his-admittedly lofty-ambitions to clean the streets and help the residents of New York, even though he was a born-and-bred cynic. Walter could complain all he liked about their relative stations in society, and how difficult it was for him to pay him back for all those sugar cubes free coffee and food, but by being a good friend he was repaying him far more than knew.

And since the split, he'd gotten to know his partner even more. Hollis had theorized that he'd hidden under that mask because he was afraid that Dan might not like what was under it, but he couldn't see why. His friend was slowly warming up to him, and it was revealing a guy that had pretty much the same qualities that made him the good partner he'd always been. Only now, they got to spend time together without the pressures of patrol and post-patrol meetings planning their next move. And it was nice, too, learning that his partner liked 'atlas shrugged' and hot dogs and seeing him gently pet a budgie in his favorite shelter. He was finally seeing all the little human traits and small details that made him so much more than a man in a mask.

Of course, all of that was making for a really hard one-two punch right in his chest, making his heart clench with how badly he wanted to reach out and...do something. Probably pet his hair like one of his birds, and that was a bad sign. One of his college girlfriends had said that the best way to tell if someone wanted into your pants was how much they wanted to touch you; a hand on the shoulder, fingertips on their elbow, a hand on the small of their back, that kind of thing. He'd always had a sort of low-level lust going for his partner, born mainly because he was a giant perv and of course his mind rolled into the gutter when Rorschach growled threats at thugs and his clever, gloved hands deftly picked locks. He'd never wanted to just gently touch him with no kinky thoughts in mind before though, and he was definitely doing that now. He started to neurotically pet the macaw on his shoulder in a desperate bid to keep his own damn hands to himself, and while Peaty appreciated it, it didn't make the desire any less potent.

"Kiss Kiss?" Peaty croaked in his ear, startling him. He snorted in amusement, and turned his head to give peaty a kiss on one wing. The bird made a chirring sound of contentment, rubbing its head against his temple. Walter looked up at the noise, giving him an amused look.

"He seems very fond of you."

Dan smiled, and the feelings that he'd been trying to repress probably swam a little too close to the surface in his expression, because Walter blinked and looked a little taken aback. Dan coughed, trying to cover up the slip.

"We should, uh, probably head out. They're going to be closing soon." 

Walter looked up at the clock, surprised to see it was close to seven already. Dan put Peaty away-who was rather reluctant to go, not that he could blame him-and he tried to do the same, but the budgie was not quite so well trained. With a protesting squawk it tried to fly off, but because it's wings were clipped it couldn't get very far. It ended up landing on Walter's hair, and got tangled in the curls. He winced as the bird fluttered and it yanked the strands, his hands hovering uselessly over his head because he couldn't see and he wasn't sure what to do. Dan made soothing noises to the bird as he gently wrapped a hand around it, and carefully unwound the hair from its feet, freeing it. He-without consciously meaning too-patted Walter's head, briefly getting to feel what the hair was like. He stopped as soon as he realized he was doing it, swallowing as he looked at Walter's face to see him giving him a confused, almost suspicious look.

"Just...checking?" Dan said, awkwardly.

"Checking what?" Walter frowned.

"Uh, that he didn't...yanno. Leave something in your hair?" He said, quickly improvising.

Walter looked a little concerned, checking his hair too. "Like what?"

"Well, you've been around New York and our famous New York pigeons." Dan said, a grin sneaking onto his face. "I think you and I have climbed enough fire escapes to know that not all the white stuff on the railings is paint."

Walter made a disgusted sound. "They aren't housebroken?"

Dan laughed. "Birds are a little different than a dog or a cat you know. I mean, you _can_ teach some birds; but not all of them, and it's more difficult."

Walter made a 'hrrm-ing' noise and kept checking his hair, but didn't find anything. He gave up and huffed, helping Dan lock up and finally walked with him out the door of the shelter. They found Sandra in the parking lot, who had just gotten done with her paperwork and was about to make her way home as well. She and Dan said their goodbyes, hugging in the way old, familiar friends did, which starkly showed the difference between their friendship and the one between himself and Daniel. They weren't nearly as comfortable around each other as Dan and Sandra were. 

He had always maintained a border between them, a level of formality that kept their relationship more formal and distant, kept it... _safe_. He'd told himself it was necessary for practical reasons at first, he just didn't know Nite Owl well enough to know if his identity was safe with him. And then he got to know Daniel and he learned that while his identity would be safe, it probably wouldn't be safe to let him learn of the person under the mask for more personal reasons. He was poor, ugly, and tended to make people uncomfortable with his beliefs and the intensity of his passion for literature, driving off most anyone that he had attempted to befriend in his teen years before he'd given up completely. He'd been afraid he'd do the same to Daniel if the man even learned their was more to him than Rorschach. Later, that had been compounded by him developing inappropriate homosexual feelings for his partner, horrifying him and making him consider leaving, but by then he was just too invested in it and couldn't imagine leaving Daniel without someone to watch his back. Besides, Daniel would have been extremely hurt and upset, even more so if he couldn't even tell him why he was leaving. 

But most of all, he was the son of a whore and at ten years of age had partially blinded one child and bit at the face of another like a mad dog, and had never forgotten the looks of disgust and horror on the faces of the bystanders. That look had dogged him for the rest of his life whenever someone learned of it, from the psychiatrist in the home to his interviewer at the police force academy. The thing that haunted him most was Daniel somehow hearing or learning about that-what levels of animalistic behavior he could sink-and seeing that same look in the face of his only friend. He didn't...he didn't know what he'd do if that ever happened. But he'd be lying if he looked at the level of familiarity between Daniel and Sandra, and said he didn't want their friendship to be like that. He just...didn't know how to get there without tipping him off to his more-than-platonic feelings, the less-than-pleasant aspects of his personality, or driving him away altogether with his sordid past. 

Eventually they parted ways, and Daniel headed back to him, smiling. "Want to head back to my place?"

He swallowed. "No. I should...go home."

Dan shrugged. "Alright, take care buddy."

He nodded, and chased his own elongated, evening shadow home.


	19. Chapter 19

Walter wasn't thinking much about anything as he got home to his grubby apartment. He fiddled with the sticky locks (plural, he had four) on his front door for five solid minutes, as usual. He shoved his way belligerently through the door once it was open too, because the whole building was tilted and the door dragged on the floor, as usual. Then he surveyed his grubby apartment and noted all the stains, peeling wallpaper, and scummy dishes in his sink...for the first time in moving here. 

_I should clean._ Also an unusual thought.

He followed that thought to it's beginning, trying to find the cause. All he could come up with was a vague feeling of discomfort at the idea of Daniel ever stopping by here again, and the bizarre feeling of actually wanting to clean for it's own sake, threat of (uninvited) guests or no. Being Rorschach at night usually made him so tired as to make everything else-even the stain where he'd spilled coffee on the floor three days ago and had been too tired to bother mopping up with a towel-too insignificant to bother with. He'd been obsessively neat at first coming out of Charlton with their strict cleanliness standards, making hospital corners on his bed and wiping down the bathroom sink every time he shaved. He'd moved in and out of many apartments since, and now that he thought of it, his first apartment had been cramped and tiny and broken down like all the others, but it had been at least clean. The building he'd lived in had been in a moderate part of town, the residents around him mostly blue-collar workers with the beginnings of a family. 

The apartments after that had been progressively worse and deeper in the ghetto as he was kicked out for delaying on the rent, moving to cheaper options that turned a blind eye to being late. He'd moved from one job to the other as the demands of being Rorschach took it's toll on them, bosses being unnerved by his bruises, and annoyed at him having to take days off when he was in too injured to work. The longest time he'd ever held a job was that very first one in the garment district, before he'd been Rorschach. It was one of the few he'd worked at long enough to put on his résumé. Years, jobs, and apartments later, the place he lived in looked exactly like the flat he'd shared with his mother. It depressed him in ways he couldn't begin to describe. Walter sighed, and finally stepped over the threshold into his apartment, reflecting that while it looked the same at least it was missing her presence. The only place she had left to prowl where the darker recesses of his own mind.

Then the door slammed, and he was reminded that she might be dead and gone but there was another presence he had to worry about.

Rorschach stepped out from behind the door, and clicked the latch. It was getting close to the time he was about to head out so he was in full regalia, face hidden under the mask, but even without it he had no expression to read.

"Didn't come home after work." He growled. 

Walter bristled, defensive. "Are you my keeper?"

"Needed to talk to you." He said. "Where were you?"

"Daniel's." He said. "Looking for you."

"Came back in the morning. Took subterranean route. Waited for you." He cocked his head. "Didn't come back after finding I wasn't there. Work gets out at three Walter. It is now seven. Where did you spend four hours?"

"Is it any business of yours?"

"Acting very defensive." Rorschach said, suspicious. "Why?"

Walter shrugged and started to hang his coat, feeling mulish and ignoring the question. Rorschach watched him silently, devoid of investigative instincts but he _knew_ Walter and his weaknesses.

"You stayed with Daniel." He prowled closer. "Didn't you."

That got Walter to look at him, even if was only to glare. "Doesn't matter if I did."

Rorschach made an irritated sound. "Said it yourself that it's dangerous to stay around him, but need to remain to watch his back. Have own lusts for him, but also the restraint. You have inappropriate feelings for him, making it worse by willingly spending hours alone around him without a buffer. Made a deal to help both of us cope-"

"Deals only work if both sides hold up their ends of the bargain." Walter hissed. "You've been getting what you need. What about _me_?"

Rorschach clenched his jaw, making the pain from last night's bruise flare and resentment burn in his throat. Walter asked something from him that he could barely quantify, much less fulfill. He was a greedy, demanding pit that ate at him, pulling him and pushing him with his insecurities and human weaknesses for warmth and affection. And when something happened that he didn't want, this son of an abusive whore fell back on his upbringing, throwing tantrums and fists. And yet, he was tied to this childish man, and would be melded back with him by the end of this temporary separation.

For the first time since this started, he wondered if he really _wanted_ to.

"Only trying to protect Daniel." He said, sullenly. "And you."

Walter broke eye contact, looking away. He didn't need the reminder of how badly it would hurt if his partner looked at him with disgust. But at the same time, he couldn't help but want more than the carefully distant partnership they had, wanted something closer to friendship. The last friends he'd ever had were in Charleston, among the other inmates. There, everyone had their problems and knew everyone around them had a share of their own. His uncle sneaking into his room after evening fell was why Tim was afraid of the dark even though he was too old for it, and being locked in a tiny closet for days as punishment was why Randy was terrified of small spaces. Everyone else had their own share of horror, so they weren't horrified by his sob story of an abusive hooker mother and the day where he'd snapped badly enough to land him in a place for 'problem children'. Thrust into the normal world at the age of sixteen, people on the outside had less tolerance for strangeness and backgrounds as dark as his. Not to mention his social failings, like the difficulty he had understanding sarcasm and how long to hold eye contact, and all the niggling little societal rules that were learned from birth by them, but a lesson he'd skipped in Charleston where it was normal for one kid to constantly rock and moan in the common room. People met him, tolerated him for a while, then quietly withdrew without telling him why. It was a situation that he'd had happen to him dozens of times, and one he was risking with Daniel if he pushed.

"I know." He said quietly. "I know that he...but I cant help it. I need more than what we have. He is a good partner, but I want him as a friend. He's the only person I've met that...wanted to be friends with me since Charleston."

"Cant." Rorschach growled. "Too different. Grew up with silver spoon in mouth, never knew hardship. Not like Charleston, where every child came from homes like yours. Never knew what people are capable of. Never knew what _you_ are capable of."

He twitched, remembering Chen and vials; blood in his mouth and the smell of cigarettes and burnt flesh. He wanted to believe that Daniel could see that and not look away in disgust and stay his friend. He wanted to believe he could go even further, press against Daniel's chest and not worry about being shoved away, kiss him and taste the black coffee he drank. He wanted to believe he could replace the image of sex in his head of the sordid image of his mother and her trick with something better, erase the lingering revulsion and burning shame and the bile that gagged him at the back of his throat the memory of it and the dreams that had dogged him since. The 'something better' was vague and far off, hovering in the distance, formless to him because he had no comparison. He only caught glimpses of what it could be when Daniel shook his hand or squeezed his shoulder, smiling after a hard night. Or when Daniel bought him a hot dog because he just wanted to share on with him, and lit up with happiness when he conceded to going with him to the shelter.

He knew that's what he wanted more of. However, as much as he wanted it, he knew how long the odds were of it happening. It was far more likely that Daniel would make that false expression of concern that barely concealed how nervous and uncomfortable he really was, and then make his careful withdrawal, like everyone else. He sighed, shoulders sagging as he conceded defeat, and motioned for Rorschach to come closer.

"Sorry." He said quietly. "You're right. I'll...try to rectify it."

He could feel his vigilante half eyeing him, gauging his sincerity. Finally he nodded in acceptance, then stiffened as Walter wrapped his arms around him, for once not trying to imitate what he wanted to do with Daniel. He wasn't sure what he was actually doing, only that he wanted to reach out and apologize for more than just getting angry today, but for last night's misunderstanding.

"I know that you are only trying to help. Shouldn't get angry at you for doing what you are supposed to." He said quietly. "I am also...sorry for hitting you. I thought that you had left him behind on purpose."

Rorschach didn't exactly relax, but some of the tension that had been hovering over both of them eased. "Apology accepted." He paused. "Concerning that Daniel's situation went unnoticed though. Dangerous. Was originally created out of your need for agency, but also to protect."

Walter stepped back a little, his head tilting a little in confusion. "Yes, as a front and to conceal my identity. No one would be afraid of a 5' 6" man like me, and while I don't have much to loose but I'd prefer not-"

Rorschach jerked his head. "Not what was meant. Created to protect those that need it. You, and people like you."

" 'Like me?' Not sure how Daniel fits that description."

"Not you as you are now." He elaborated. "You as you picture yourself in that first apartment, sharing it with your mother. Getting hurt, seeing too much. Supposed to protect Daniel from physical harm, also mental harm from seeing too much of the dark side of humanity."

Rorschach made a frustrated sound. "Failed in the first respect. Very upsetting."

Walter wanted to comfort his other half, as strange and difficult as that might be. "Daniel said that might be the result of the split, and will be fixed when we are put back together again."

Rorschach stared at him, ink shifting slowly over his face, and said nothing. His body language had settled into something that Walter couldn't read, something he didn't recognize, and it was...unsettling.

He swallowed. "...Rorschach?"

Rorschach stepped out of his arms. "Need to go. Time to start patrol."

Rorschach could feel Walter's eyes on him as he prepared to make his exit via the window, and he could feel his concern vibrating in his other half. He looked over his shoulder, at the insecure child in a dirty apartment, and couldn't help wondering if he really wanted to come back. Then he was gone to roam the night, without the presence of Walter at his back. Without his human distractions and emotional baggage. 

It felt suspiciously like freedom.


	20. Chapter 20

Something was...different about the two of them.

Walter had returned to his old habit of avoiding him, and then some, hardly ever seeing him except to work for an hour or half hour on clues in the basement. Rorschach, on the other hand, was around almost constantly. Despite that though, it was like he wasn't even there. Before, his partner could-and would-have long discussions about literature, the 'crumbling state of our American civilization', whatever. Point is, they would _talk_. Now...not so much. Rorschach would only talk about things related to patrol, and either grunt or just look at him when he tried to strike up a conversation. He didn't make jokes, he didn't rag on the contents of his refrigerator, and he didn't start an argument about politics out of boredom. He'd always been aware of the separation between them since the split in a vague way, in a one-person-was-suddenly-two-kind-of-way, but he'd always thought they were generally the same. Of course, their was the obvious things like missing out on him being injured, but it was the little things that he started to become aware of. The distinctions were never so clear as they were now.

Especially now, when Rorschach was wandering off on his own. He'd become increasingly independent, straight up _leaving_ him if he took too long to get suited up or moving off when he was preoccupied trying to comfort some crying victim. It was like he forgot he had a partner half the time, far too obsessed with finding and eradicating crime to notice Nite Owl had fallen behind. And he could care less for the victims. He'd never been all that great at human relations, but Dan _distinctly_ remembered him breaking up a domestic-abuse-turned-hostage situation, and the gentleness he'd shown the five-year old boy after. It had been damn cold that day, and the family was so dirt poor they didn't have a winter coat for the kid. He'd tucked in his own trench coat around the little guy, and left it with him. He'd been without it for at least a week, shivering in nothing but his suit coat and refusing any and all offers made by Dan to buy him a new one.

(Of course, he understood _now_ why he'd refused, his pride getting in the way. And seeing that he was a factory worker, it must have taken a long time to save up for another-)

But, getting back to the present, it was getting increasingly difficult to work with him. His always-present obsession and laser focus lacked the wider view and human compassion that Dan now realized was part of Walter. And speaking of compassion...

It was always gut-wrenching when anything involved kids, but this wasn't looking too good from the outset. And talking to the mother was...difficult to say the least. And Rorschach wasn't helping.

"Mrs. Blair, I realize you're upset, but we need you to give some information. If you could calm down and tell us the last time you saw her-"

"Should move on." Grunted Rorschach in the background. "Useless."

Nite Owl clenched his fists, trying to restrain himself. "Would you...please excuse us."

As soon as they were out, he couldn't keep it back anymore. He slammed Rorschach up against a wall, part of him appalled at how rough he was being with his partner, the other part of him _not giving a fuck._

"The hell is wrong with you?!" He hissed.

"Let go." He growled, only sounding mildly annoyed, and that just incensed him further.

"How could you say that in front of her?" Dan snarled, pressing his full weight onto him, like he could physically force his message to sink in.

"Been two days already." He said, perfectly even. Emotionless. "Percentage of finding the child decreases exponentially every hour. Chances now are very small. Cocaine shipment coming in soon, will affect the city far more than disappearance of one child. Should take priority."

His mouth chewed on empty air, unable to say a single damn thing. This wasn't...this wasn't _like_ him. Whoever this guy was that he had pinned to the wall, they weren't his partner.

He let him go, too stunned to keep it up. "Look, I have to keep _trying_. I know that you think this has less priority than one kid, but to me they're pretty much equal."

Rorschach made an irritated noise, but didn't object when Nite Owl went back. Their was no response when he knocked on the Blair's front door though, and with Rorschach growling impatiently at his elbow, he was forced to leave. All he could do now is walk away, his shoulders bowed with defeat.

\---

Walter was at the work desk when they got back, and Dan was so goddamn relived to see him. Walter was the more irrational side (and prone to outbursts of rage, like a few days ago) but at least he had more compassion than the heartless robot next to him. Maybe he could appeal to his civilian side to get his vigilante persona to act like less of a jackass. It was probably a better idea than the burning desire to beat some sense into Rorschach himself.

Walter rose to leave-lately, he'd hurried out as soon as they came back-but Nite Owl caught his sleeve before he could vanish down the tunnel. He knew that his partner hated to be manhandled, but Dan was just tired of screwing around. "I need your help."

Walter started, but one look at his frantic expression, and he stilled.

Dan let out a breath, and tried to calm down. "Rorschach he...we were interviewing a family who's kid was taken, and is being held for ransom and he-God damn it, he said it was a waste of time! In front of the family! They wont speak to us now and-"

Walter's eyes widened, and he looked over to his doppelganger. "You _what_?"

Rorschach just shrugged. "It _is_ waste of time. Child has been gone for two days. Odds very long on finding her."

"FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Nite Owl screamed, and they both stepped back.

"That doesn't mean you _give up_!" He roared. He _never_ screamed at him, and it was terrifying. "And how the fuck could you say that in front of the mom when she's bawling her eyes out you asshole! Now she wont fucking talk to us because of you!"

By the end of his tirade, he'd actually raised his fists, like he was about to beat the crap out of Rorschach himself. Their was dead silence in the tunnel, broken only by the heavy breathing of Nite Owl, his breath snorting from his nostrils like an angry bull getting ready to charge.

"Daniel." Walter said, slowly, hoping that using his civilian name would lure his more passive side out from behind his vigilante one.

Nite Owl turned to focus his angry gaze on him, like he was about to lay into him too.

"I could-" His voice wavered. Walter swallowed, and forced his voice to even out. "I could go with you, instead. Talk to the victims, get clues."

Nite Owl looked him over. "I don't know if they'll speak to us _now_. And you cant just take to them bare-faced. I mean, do you even _have_ a spare costume?"

He did, but their was no time to go back and get it. "Rorschach could lend me his."

Rorschach looked at him, and even through the mask, Walter could feel the glare. They weren't on the best of terms, but Walter gave him a pleading look anyway. The families of the victim didn't have the time to deal with Rorschach's animosity towards him. They were already on single digits when it came to the percentages of finding Blair, every passing hour saw the chances decrease.

Rorschach slowly, reluctantly, removed his mask. Then trench, suit coat, suspenders, shirt, undershirt, and so on and so forth until he was down to just his boxers. Walter flushed, realizing he was too far down the tunnel to make a graceful retreat to the changing room, but the situation was too serious to be embarrassed for long. He quickly stripped and put on the costume, heading out with Nite Owl as soon as he was dressed. He tripped along behind him, almost running after Nite Owl who was practically speed walking on his long legs, each stride nearly double the length of his own. Usually they were synchronized, but Nite Owl was too angry and preoccupied to shorten his stride as he walked into Archie.

The silence in the owlship was thick enough to cut with a knife. Walter looked over at Daniel, trying to take his mind of the strange mix of how he felt uncomfortable/comfortable in uniform. The other feelings swirling in his chest weren't much better though. He'd never seen Daniel so angry with him before, never. It may not have been Walter specifically, but it was still _him_ in a way. And...god, he'd never been so angry and downright confused at _himself_ before.

_"Waste of time."_ He felt sick.

"...Daniel?"

"What."

"I..." He swallowed, "I'm...sorry."

"Not your fault." He said curtly.

"It is. In a...roundabout way." Walter said. Rorschach was a part of him after all. The part that was all logic and devoid of basic human compassion. 

They were both quiet for a moment, until Nite Owl sighed, breaking the intense silence. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have yelled at him like that."

"No, you _should_ yell at him for that." He growled, seething. "Behaved badly."

"Yeah." Dan sighed. "It's just he's been..."

Walter looked at him.

"...Difficult." Dan sighed deeply. "I miss having you on patrol."

"I have been...taking extra hours." Walter said carefully. "Haven't been able to spend as much time as before with you."

"No no, I don't mean that." Dan shook his head. "I meant...before. You know, before this all happened, when you were just one person. Rorschach's missing some pretty important bits that made you more than just a partner. I know you, ah...don't like it when I get too close, but...I always felt you were a close friend."

Nite Owl sighed. "And now that you're in a separate body, and just Rorschach is the one patrolling with me, it's...different."

He trailed off into embarrassed silence, and Walter mulled over the words. His vigilante persona and civilian side were not as separate as he'd imagined. Daniel thought of Rorschach as a partner, but it took Walter to elevate their relationship to 'friend'. And that was even _before_ the split, when Daniel hadn't known their was anyone besides Rorschach out there. He'd been considered a close friend even before he'd acquiesced to going to the library or shelter with him, before he'd started spending time with him without his other half, before Daniel had even known his _name_.

_-don't like it when I get too close,_

Walter felt his heart squeeze. He really didn't like holding him at arms length, and he _knew_ it hurt Daniel whenever he had to withdraw or set boundaries. Daniel was just a naturally affectionate man that craved closeness, and turning down his attempts to get closer was like kicking a puppy. He knew, on a rational, logical level that their was a reason for it, but right now he didn't have much of either. It was in a different body, along with his restraint. He turned, looking at Daniel hunched over the steering wheel, his face set in an anxious, almost desperate expression as he sped towards the Rorche's, and almost, _almost_ just let all of his secrets slip, but-

But.

Their was a time and a place, and now wasn't one of them.

He shut his mouth, and focused on trying not to panic. He wasn't the vigilante, that was Rorschach's job, and he'd never faced a case so desperate. A child missing for two days was a child not likely to be found, and even if they did...he tried not to picture what they were most likely to find, and tried to envision a scared, wide-eyed _alive_ girl that needed to be rescued instead. He focused on that, and on the rage and white-knuckle determination to find her, to avoid sinking into pessimism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooo boy, about to jump into some pretty serious territory here with no safety net.


	21. Chapter 21

By the time they got there it was very late, probably after ten, and they weren't expecting anyone to be up. Walter had expected they'd be asleep, exhausted by worry, but the lights were still on in the tiny little walkup. He knocked, pretty certain they'd tell them both to fuck off and they'd be completely within their rights too, but hoping all the same. He was surprised when the door swung open to reveal the bleary-eyed face of Mr. Rorche, who must have come home from his second-shift job. His face was red and puffy, an obvious sign he'd been crying, and he looked at them with a dull, tired expression. He took in the two with glacial slowness, blinking.

"You aren't cops." He said, after a nearly a full minute.

"No, but we are here to help." Nite Owl said in his best, official voice. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping that the Father would be more willing to talk to them.

He stood there for a minute, slowly considering, before shuffling back to let them through. He went and sat on the couch, not even bothering to distractedly offer them a seat like Mrs. Rorche had. He answered their questions listlessly, and as depressing as it was, at least it they got their answers with as little fuss as possible. What really worried him was that as they went through the usual questions, nothing seemed to pop out. No revelations, no 'aha' moment. Just a list of random facts that made no coherent picture.

Kidnapping was different than the organized crime cases they usually worked with; their was a method, a plan. You followed clues, interrogated members, stopped shipments of drugs, etc. Kidnapping cases were obviously different, but the majority of children taken were by an estranged parent, like divorce soured where one parent took the child to spite their spouse or out of desperation. Sometimes it was an abuser, trying to force their victim to come back to them, in exchange for their child. This, on the other hand was...random. She'd been taken by some moron that had mistaken them for a rich family because of a similar last name. He'd even made the ransom note from letters cut out of a magazine pasted on a sheet of paper, and it would be so ridiculous except for the fact that a little girl was missing.

They finally winded down, and tried not to shuffle awkwardly under the impassive gaze of the shell-shocked father.

"Thank you for your cooperation." Walter said stiffly, damming himself for his stunted social graces. "We will..."

Nite Owl looked at him as his voice paltered. He could feel the sympathy in the gaze burning on his skin, no matter how carefully it was hidden by the dark lenses an the neutral line of his mouth.

"We'll look for her." Nite Owl finished for him. Mr. Roche said nothing, but just as they turned to leave, some part of him seemed to swim up from under all the shock.

"Is there a chance?" He said, in a very small voice.

Walter swallowed. He turned slowly, and even though he knew the man couldn't possibly tell behind the humid latex, he forced his gaze to meet his watery, drooping eyes.

"The cops, they just..." He paused. "They won’t say anything."

What can you say to something like that? Is their anything that can be said? He tries, anyway. "There’s still hope. While theirs life."

It was...unbearably terrible. He was aware of how trite it sounded the moment the words left his mouth, but it was all he could think of to say. But it still seemed to work, because when you were in the depths of despair you would grasp at anything, even straws.

The man stood, and walked towards them. Walter tensed, feeling more nervous anticipation from being approached by this meek, pale man, than breaking up a gang of topknots armed to the teeth. He tensed as the man drew a small, washed-out photo from his shirt pocket and gave it to him.

“It’s old...the police took all the most recent photos...” He trailed off.

Blair smiled crookedly up at him, and he swallowed, slipping it into the breast pocket of his suit coat, and he could feel it there, like a hot sheet of lead, burning a hole into him and weighing him down because he knew, he _knew_ that there wasn’t just one life at stake here. It was Blair’s, it was her father’s, her mother’s, that all needed rescuing. 

“Will you...” The man’s voice faltered, “Will...you bring her home?”

“I...” It was hard to speak with this burning weight on his chest. 

“Promise to bring her home.” He begged, childlike. Like a promise was all it took to bring a little girl home, and it so hard to speak, and maybe it’s that tiny plea that pulls it out of him-

“I promise.”

\----

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Nite Owl says nothing. He throws him a sympathetic look, but offers no platitudes or denials. He’s right, and they both know it. No matter how much they plead or beg or threaten, you never offer certainties, percentages, or promises. 

_Never make a promise you can’t-_

He swallows, and shakes. Nite Owl says nothing, but he rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, hoping to comfort him, but it doesn’t help.

“What do you want to do now?” He asks.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know. The outlook is bleak, but the thought of that child scared, hiding somewhere...He wants to go out and look for her but...he’s not the vigilante. He’ll relay the information to his vigilante half, and pray. He’ll pray, even though his faith is a tenuous thing and he hasn’t done so since he was a minor still in Charleston, brought to mass every Sunday, looking up at the compassionate face of Christ and truly _believing_ someone was looking back.  
“Take me back to the nest.” He rasped. “I’ll tell Rorschach and...”

_-Pray for a miracle-_

He swallowed. “He’ll look for her.”

Nite Owl opened his mouth, like he was going to say something, but there was nothing to say. Instead, he turned towards home.

\---

There was nothing more to do. He repeated the information, changed clothes (in privacy this time) and went to work, because calling in sick and staying at home and stewing in this was...it was a bad idea. All day he tried to focus, drowning in work, but there was nothing to distract him at night. All he could do was stare at water stains on the ceiling and feel his stomach churn until Rorschach returned in the morning. There was no word on her whereabouts, and his indifference resulted in a shouting match that had the neighbors pounding on the walls..

Another day at work, and he got yelled at for being distracted, and barely noticed. He had a feeling that it was probably the last time he was going to get yelled at, and probably the last time he’d work here, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All night the water stains morphed while he stared, into crooked smiles and desperate faces, and his stomach churned and churned until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

\---  
Rorschach scrambled into the tenement window, feeling the ache deep in his bones. He’d been looking and looking, but there had been no news. The little girl had been missing for two days when he’d gotten word of the abduction, and even though Rorschach knew how small the chance was of finding her, Walter had latched onto it like a pit-bull and wouldn’t let go. Walter was his humanity, the heart that bled for the victims; and the image of a frightened girl kept swimming up in his mind. He’d taken a very personal interest in finding her; to the point of telling the Roche’s he’d bring her home. 

Rorschach had never been a small, frightened child; but Walter had. 

He froze when he saw Walter crouched over the hidden space in the floorboards, dressed in the spare uniform save for the face. He jerked his head up to stare back at his vigilante persona, his gaze long and level and not in the mood for arguing.

“What are you doing?” Rorschach said flatly, even though he knew the answer.

“I’m going out to help look for her. She’s been missing for four days.”

Rorschach sucked in a breath, feeling a heavy weight in his belly. “Been gone too long.”

“She could still be alive!” He said angrily.

“No word from the kidnapper. Four days Walter; know that’s too long.” He said, reaching out a fumbling hand to grasp his shoulder. “Cocaine ring is expecting shipment; it should take precedence, not this pointless chase- ”

Walter ducked out from under it, face distorted with anger. “I made a promise to them! Told them I would bring her back alive; bring her home safe!”

“Walter -” He tried again to grab him, to hold him here by force and make him see reason, but the hand was knocked away. Walter snatched up the spare mask, and whirled to face him.

“If you’re not going to help,” He snarled, and jammed it over his head. “I’ll find her myself.”

\---

He tried to follow him, but Rorschach was a night creature and the early dawn made him feel exposed; made him stick to the shrinking shadows. Walter was the daylight conscience and felt no compulsion to do the same or even stick to alleyways; he took to the open streets and used the busses and subways, brazenly ignoring the staring public. Rorschach soon lost him.  
He tried waiting at the apartment, but the day passed and Walter didn’t come home; and as dusk started falling he loped over town, following a trail of weeping informants clutching their mangled hands. It’s dark again when he tracked down the dressmaker’s shop, as dark as it gets; and the smell of blood that smacks his face through the gap in the fence makes the lead in his chest squeeze around his heart.

He went through the open door, past the furnace and dusty kitchen, out to the back yard. There he found Walter, unmoving, framed by the corpses of the dogs, their brains and blood pooling on the ground and steaming on the front of Walter’s trench. He didn’t move when he took the cleaver from his hand. He still didn’t move when Grice stumbled home and Rorschach slammed him into the furnace and beat the truth out of him.

Rorschach walked to stand next to him, shutting the door on Grice’s wheezing breathing and the stink of kerosene. He pulled Walter’s mask up, and he could see the eyes were closed; no one there to open them. He took one of the gloved hands in his and led him slowly away, throwing a lit match behind them. The flames were already starting to lick at the wooden doorframe when they made it to the curb, and the door way was engulfed in fire by the time they were across the street. He kept holding his hand as they stood across the street to watch it burn, the greasy smoke making its way toward the moon. No one came out.

“Take you to Daniel.” He said.

Walter didn’t respond. Behind them, the building collapsed in a whirl of sparks.

\---

Daniel wasn’t home. He was down on the lower east end, dispensing justice as Nite Owl. He had to take care of Walter alone.

He steered him into the bathroom, and started to remove the coat, the body under his hands neither assisting nor resisting. The bloody trench shook droplets onto the tile, smearing everywhere. He removed the suit jacket, the vest and shirt, draping them over the toilet seat. He shoved the pants and underwear down, and then pushed him into sitting on the seat. Shoes, socks, pants were efficiently jerked off. He switched the tub faucet on, shucking his own clothes off while it filled. It took a lot of effort to get him in. He was so stiff he wouldn’t move, so Rorschach was forced to pick him up, one arm under the back of the knees, the other around the shoulder blades. He stepped back into the tub, and lowered himself into it. He slid until he was behind Walter, his back pressed to his chest. 

They floated a while. Walter had always liked warm baths, it being a luxury that he couldn’t afford often. He’d liked to take them here, in Daniel’s warm house. Liked the way the soap and cologne smelled. Rorschach’s want for a bath was more practical, as they both could use a way to wash off the blood and smoke. Dimly, he heard the basement door open and shut, letting him know Daniel was home. He ignored it, laying in the water and waiting for Walter to wake up; not sure if he would. His arms were crossed over Walter’s chest, rising and falling with his breathing, and remained the way even as he heard the footfalls on the stairs, the steps approaching the half-open door.

“...Are you both in there?” His voice had a note of concern in it.

“Yes.”

“Are you okay? There was some blood in the basement, a trail of it to the bathroom...” The door creaked as he opened it, worried eyes peering in.

Walter would have said ‘Fine, Daniel.’ But Rorschach was honest.

“No.”

Daniel’s eyes widened, taking in the view of a catatonic Walter floating in the tub. “Is he hurt?”

“Not physically.”

He crouched down near the tub, looking up at him anxiously. “Does this have something to do with the split?”

“Not in the way that you think.”

“The hell do you mean by that? Jesus, just explain what happened to him!”

He paused, looking down at the unmoving form resting on his. The face was still, the eyes closed. He could be asleep, if every muscle wasn’t stiff.

“Saw results of kidnapping case.” Daniel sucked in a breath; he could only imagine what horrors there could have been. “Got there before me.”

“Was she...” The question hung in the air, like a sword from a thread. Rorschach stared blankly back at him.

“What did he...what did he see?” He swallowed. “Tell me, please.”

“No.” He jerked his head. 

“Wha- _why?_ Please, just tell me-”

Rorschach bared his teeth. “Walter saw. See what happened to him? Not going to tell you. Failed Walter; won’t do same to you.”

Daniel gave him a confused look. “Failed-?”

“Didn’t protect him. Wasn’t there.” He hung his head. “What I meant by ‘not in the way you think.’ ”

Daniel’s face fell, but remained silent as he continued. “Wouldn’t have been able to stop Walter from breaking, but could have at least absorbed pieces into myself; taken his abilities, his memories, into me. Preserve them. Would have died, but at least would have not been lost completely lost.”

He went silent, and it was the most Daniel had heard him speak at one time since the split and the strain was showing. Daniel let him be quiet, taking the opportunity to sit down on the rug, and rest his head on the cool ceramic of the tub.

“What do we do?” He said softly.

“Don’t know.” He started to cup some of the water and pour it over the stiff neck. “Cut off from me now. Can’t reach him.”

For a long time the only noise was the trickle of water as Rorschach sloughed off the blood and smoke from both of their skins. Daniel helped him get Walter out of the tub, stood by while he dried himself and his other half off, and then helped Rorschach carry him into the guest room. 

“Do you want some spare clothes? I’ll launder the other ones...”

Rorschach was already nodding, and Daniel hurried off. He looked down at the stiff ball under the yellow comforter, adrift in the yards of cheerful fabric. He sat at the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, and wished he could have been there to fulfill the purpose he had been created for.

He wished he could have protected Walter.


	22. Chapter 22

Dan took him to the hospital, over Rorschach’s most strenuous objections. He was sure he was doing all that he could in this…situation, but it still felt like he wasn’t doing enough. He felt powerless in the face of this, and even more so after he was forced to turn over his charge to the hospital. Rorschach was the one to sign him over, being his ‘brother’. His pen hovered indecisively over the paper, before finally signing it as _‘Charlie Kovacs’_.

His paused after signing again, staring at the paper. It seemed fitting to use the name of Walter’s estranged father. He sometimes felt like an aggrieved parent to his other, more emotional half sometimes. A nudge from Daniel broke his introspection, and he looked up into his worried face.

“I’ll be waiting out here for you.” He said softly. “They only let close family in.”

Rorschach nodded, and they were whisked behind closed doors, leaving Daniel’s hovering behind.

\---

“Was he taking any medication?”

Rorschach blinked. It took effort to actively listen, the questions having gone on far longer than what he had tolerance for. The only two people he’d actually talked to for the duration of his short, separate existence was Walter and Daniel. He didn’t have the social skills to deal with anyone else, those were currently residing in the warm corpse of Walter, stiffly lying in the hospital bed. After the first frenzy of activity, they had determined that he hadn’t sustained a head injury and his vitals were stable, and was therefore not in any immediate danger. They’d hooked up an IV of saline solution, but he had the feeling that was partly for show and partly to reassure themselves that they were doing _something_. He wasn’t any good at reading people, but he was already sure that there was nothing that they could do for him.

“Sir?”

“No.” He grunted.

“Was he using any illegal substances?”

“If he was,” He growled, “Would I tell you?”

He held the man’s eye, and he stood up for an admirably long time before looking away.

“Does he have a history of mental illness?”

Well. Perhaps. Did having a vigilante persona count as a multiple personality? One that was distinct enough to be easily split from him and still function semi-normally? The separation between them had always been very distinct, even before the Doctor's meddling.

“Maybe.”

The man’s face pinched. “Could you be…more specific?”

“…Could have split personality.” He said.

The man blinked, startled. Perhaps after so many monosyllabic and evasive answers he was surprised to get such a blunt reply.

“Ah…could you expand on that?”

“No.”

The man sighed, disappointed to go back to piecemeal information. The Doctor had been grilling him since his other half had come in, and he’d been giving him nothing more than what he felt was safe. He did understand the necessity of these questions, but it was pointless. This wasn’t something physical like a broken bone, it wasn’t even a more pedestrian form of mental illness like the irrational paranoia that many vagrants he’d encountered. This was the combination of a borderline multiple personality disorder and an experiment gone bad.

He mostly ignored the doctor and his ineffectual fussing until the man left, and stared at Walter lying on the cheap mattress, thinking of how small he looked, how much like a shriveled, empty husk. The harsh white of the lights, the walls, the thin blanket, they all made it so much worse. He looked like an overexposed photo, washed-out and pale, and he wanted desperately to take him back to the hushed atmosphere of Daniel’s guest room. Walter would have preferred that to this pale, sterile environment. He wasn’t sure if there was anything left in that body to prefer anything, but at least he could make him comfortable.

The doctor returned. Hours had probably passed, he wasn’t sure. “Well, the tests came back negative-”

“Of what.”

He stuttered, thrown off. “Of, ah, drugs or any-”

“Drugs.” He ground out, irritated by the insinuation.

“Illegal or prescription.” He said firmly, getting some spine back. “We wanted to make sure this was caused by some substance.”

He made a vague noise and went back to ignoring the man as he chattered, saying something about barbituates and other meds, as if that would do any good.

“We’ve had good success with other cases like-”

“I want to take him home.” He said.

The man stuttered, a pole stuck in the spokes of his smoothly rolling spiel. “Sir, I really wouldn’t recommend that he-”

“Can you tell me,” He said slowly, staring the man in the eye “that he really would be better off here than home?”

The man faltered, his mouth opening and closing on air. Then he sighed, passing a hand over his face. “If…we put a system in place for his care, then yes, he can go home. Do you want me to draw something up for you?”

Rorschach didn’t nod, just turned away, and the Doctor took that as a yes.

\---

Daniel objected, of course, but there wasn’t much he could do. Rorschach was Walter’s ‘brother’ after all, and had every legal right to take him out of the hospital. All he could do was follow at his heels as Rorschach pushed him out and tried to keep the IV stand from tangling in the wheels. He wanted to try to force the guy to keep Walter here, where he had at least a chance of decent care and Doctors on call in case something else went wrong. However, not only were his hands tied legally, he could very well take Walter to his own shitty apartment (and it was shitty, even as he felt bad for thinking it). There Walter risked dying of pneumonia or some secondary complications because of the unhygienic state of his flat. So, Daniel had held his tongue, in the hopes that he wouldn’t drive him off and he would keep Walter at his place where he could at least see him. Before he could even suggest it, Rorschach spoke first.

“May keep him at your home?” Rorschach said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet.

“Of course you can.” Dan said, just as quiet.

He made a vague noise, and the drive back was oppressively silent for a while. Dan quickly settled into dull grey thoughts, worries and medical jargon swirling around in his head.

“He would have preferred it.”

Dan blinked, startled out of his reverie, and looked over to Rorschach, who was staring straight ahead, a million-mile stare into the divider glass of the cab.

“Better like this. No whitewashed hospital walls. Better if he was…” He chewed on air, searching for words, something that he’d never seen precise, blunt Rorschach do. “…Home.”

He went quiet and looked out the window, the hard lines in his neck a type of body signal that Dan knew how to read. No more words forthcoming, nothing more to say. And there really wasn’t anything to say to that, nothing at all. The best he could do was reach over the unresponsive form of Walter between them and put his palm on the back of his neck, a gesture that was one that he’d used whenever his partner was angry or upset. It had a calming effect, like gentling a wild animal, and it was all he could offer to help Rorschach and himself. He left his arm over both of them for the rest of the ride, trying to hold them both without holding wrapping his arms around them and press them close because awake, Walter would never allow it and Rorschach you just…didnt. So, he draped an arm around them both and tried not to cry.


	23. Chapter 23

Walter drank if his lips were peeled back and his jaws forced apart, and once water was spooned into his mouth, he would swallow convulsively. Neither of them wanted to try food, afraid he would choke on it. He stood if pulled to his feet, but wouldn’t walk; he had to be carried. Rorschach diligently tended to him, carrying him wherever he needed to go, cleaning him, tending to the iv lines and bedpan. Daniel had never seen as the nurturing type, but he went about it without a word, following the doctor’s drawn up instructions to the letter without a word. Rorschach had always been quiet, but now he only spoke when it was necessary. He started to work on his own; and sometimes Daniel only saw him when he came to do the basic care for Walter, before disappearing. He tried to talk to him, but he would only respond in monosyllabic grunts or outright ignore him. After a few days of this the strain was...starting to tell. Daniel felt caught, trapped between not wanting to go out on patrol, and also not wanting to go home. At night, he patrolled with a silent partner or an empty space. At home, he was host to a warm, breathing corpse that vaguely occupied whatever space he was last set on.

Tonight, the empty space was cutting too sharply into his once-healthy enthusiasm for cleaning up the streets of New York, so he sat on the edge of the guest bed, still in his armor. The body lying next to him responded to nothing, but at least he was there. If he was a silent as Rorschach, at least he would stay instead of rushing off or muttering on how they needed to get back to their _duty_. He could talk to him...even if he wasn’t sure he could actually hear what he said.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this heroing business.” He murmured. “I’m starting to realize how much I rely on your insights into cases, on you saying you’re lame jokes to take the edge off the worse nights. It used to be better, you know? Back in the sixties; when I could talk to you, feel comfortable around you. To me you weren’t just my partner, you were my friend; and now I feel like I’m losing both of-”

“Daniel.”

He jumped, heart going a mile a minute. Rorschach was framed in the half-open door with the light of the nightstand lamp painting a yellow rectangle over him; over his grimy uniform and crusted shoes. He stayed only long enough to care for Walter, not enough to launder his uniform. The epaulet on one side was loose, had been loose for at least three days, and before he would have repaired it; sewing it down with tiny, neat stitches.

“Need to bathe him.” Rorschach said, evenly.

“...Sure. And...after, why don’t you stay?” He swallowed. “I have some leftovers you could have. You could wash your clothes too; I’ll lend you some of-”

He jerked his head in a definite no, shouldering his way into the room. “Only need to perform necessities.”

“What’s the hurry?” Daniel tried to keep his voice level, but he’d been about to lay his head down in his hands and cry himself empty when Rorschach came in. It came out angry, snapping into the air.

Rorschach stopped, visibly hesitating. “...Upset?”

A dozen of responses denying that he was came up, but they were all strangled by frustration.

“Yes!” It wasn’t a loud shout, but Rorschach jumped.

“...Should return later.” He jerked away, and walked out of the room. Daniel sat there for a second, wondering if he’d gone too far, but the frustration at the fact that Rorschach was running away, instead of talking- _again_ \- crested. Before he knew it, he was up and running after him. He was quick. Apparently after he’d gotten out of the room, he’d double-timed it for the basement door. He was already on the steps.

“Rorschach!” He took the steps two at a time, trying to catch up. Rorschach was attempting to look unconcerned, but he was walking awful quickly for a guy who just usually ignored him when he attempted to talk to him. _Something I said must have gotten to him. That might be encouraging if he wasn’t trying to run away-_

“Ror-” He got a hold of his arm, but had to drop it in surprise when the man whirled around, fist cocked and ready to swing. It seemed to have done the trick though. Rorschach had stopped, half-up mask revealing a mouth that was twisting with an attempt to form words.

“Am trying!” He managed to grind out.

“What-?”

“Trying to be your partner, but Walter was your friend. Can’t give you...support you need, not without him. Can’t do it, not like this.” He jerked his head. “Am just half a person!”

Daniel started to cautiously approach him, to put a comforting hand on his shaking shoulder. Rorschach was so agitated he didn’t even seem to notice, he continued talking almost too fast, like he was vomiting it all out.

“Walter made me. Created me. Out of his need to protect himself and others like him.” He sucked in a breath, but it was obvious he was having difficulty. He was almost hyperventilating. “Supposed to protect him, supposed to protect Blair; but Walter is dead and Blair is in the stomach of two dogs!”

He listened with widened and panicked eyes, but kept reaching. He didn’t shy away when Rorschach punched him, even though it hurt like hell even through the costume.

“Failed!” He screamed, and Daniel wrapped tighter, to hold him even as he shook and pounded his fist on his ribs. “Failed them!”

Daniel could already feel his sides bruising, but he pulled him close and squeezed his eyes against the pain. The screaming and punching continued for a little while, inarticulate ravings into his neck and fists on his arms and sides. But he eventually quieted, heaving and gasping softly, forehead digging uncomfortably into his collarbone.

“Failed you, too. Losing you. Losing our partnership. Didn’t mean to...alienate you.” He mumbled. “Sorry.”

Daniel swallowed. “I’m...I’m sorry too. I’d focused so damn much on Walter I never thought that you might need some help too. Your part of the same person. You…saw what happened to Blair too. ”

They stood for a while, until the holding became awkward. They pulled away; though it was mostly Daniel stepping back, Rorschach standing exactly where he was, either unable or unwilling to move.

“That offer for a hot meal and laundry still stands.” He said, cautious hope in his voice.

“...Can start laundry and soup while we shower.” He nodded.

Daniel gave him a small, exhausted smile and they both walked upstairs.

\---

There was still no change in his other half. But there were changes in him, at least. He was not Walter; he could not make Daniel smile to lift the gloom that seemed to be gathering thicker. But he could be there, shoulder to shoulder, patrolling alone only when strictly necessary. He even stayed here now; it hadn’t taken much to move his one bag of clothes and a small stack of New Frontiersman into the guest room. He stamped the mud off his shoes, and carried the last box up the stairs to find Daniel and start patrol, but didn’t find him in the kitchen or anywhere downstairs. Presently he heard Daniel’s voice coming from the guest room, and followed it up.

“Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all.”

 _Ayn Rand. Atlas Shrugged._ He cocked his head, and approached the half-open door. _Didn’t realize Daniel had that in his collection._

“Do not let the hero in your soul perish in the lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach-”

Daniel spotted him, and looked a little embarrassed. “He, ah. Quoted it once. Thought he might like to...hear it.”

He blinked, and was reminded of how much Daniel invested in him. Food, spare clothes, a place to sleep. And now, reading at his bedside. “...Appreciated, Daniel.”

He smiled, and watched as he approached Walter’s side. Rorschach looked him over, but he was in the exact same position he’d left him. He hadn’t rolled over or relaxed, which despite the closed eyes, meant he wasn’t asleep. He’d loosen up and shift with dreams when he was asleep, at least. He’d grown paler and his cheeks shallower. He’d managed to spoon pureed mixes into him, but he wasn’t sure if that was enough nutrition to keep him going. He was starting to worry about him. Walter was most likely dead and gone but…their might still be something left in there. Memories, a few thoughts. Something. Anything at all that he might absorb into himself if Manhattan reunited them, things that he could take with him so that Walter would not completely fade away, things that he could use to at least try to flesh out his one-dimensional self.

“Heard anything from Dr. Manhattan yet?”

Daniel’s face fell. “No. Not yet.”

They were both quiet for a while, Rorschach moving Walter into a new position to try to keep him from straining the muscles by staying in one pose too long. He’d sometimes hold positions for hours, his muscles locked, and would put up some resistance too being moved into a new one; but once moved he’d stay that way unless he involuntarily jerked into a new stance.

Rorschach looked him over until he had to look away, and made his way to the kitchen. Behind him he heard the soft shift of Daniel’s feet over the carpet and linoleum. He probably wanted some form of companionship, but Rorschach didn’t have much to offer in that area. Being Daniel’s friend had always been Walter’s department. His other half had never been sure what to say, but at least he could hold a conversation. Now only Rorschach was the one able to speak, but he didn’t have anything to say.

Dan busied himself in the kitchen, heating some food for the both of them, even though one of them wasn’t really hungry and the other ate his food cold. Rorschach let him do whatever soothed him though, not talking about waste, because he wasn’t the half that had the capability to try to reach out and comfort.

The silence went on, only broken by the soft beep of the microwave, and they ate quietly. Rorschach cleaned his plate, but Dan just stared down into his half-eaten portion.

“Manhattan...once mentioned the reason why he did this to you. Before he left.” Dan said.

He looked up at Daniel, waiting for an explanation.

“He said that you needed his...assistance.” He swallowed. “That your vigilante persona was overtaking your daytime one. In time there would be nothing left of Walter. Just Rorschach.”

He let his eyes wander into the middle distance, mulling over the words. He had never wanted Dr. Manhattan’s form of ‘assistance’, never asked for it, never would have asked for it. But what he said was true, about Walter’s increasing decline, while Rorschach became more and more prominent. He focused back on Daniel, finally speaking.

“Remember case where we broke up hostage situation with single mother and daughter?”

Dan blinked at the non-sequietar. “Yeah, the abusive boyfriend was holding them, threatening he’d kill the daughter if she didn’t come back with him.”

“Cold night. Remember me putting my coat on the little girl?”

“Yeah.” He said softly, his face softening. It was one of the few times he’d shown his gentler side; getting rarer and rarer these days.

“Don’t remember why I did that.” He grunted. Daniel jerked up to look at him in surprise.

“Do remember images of a coat on her shoulder. Images of putting it on her. But don’t remember what compelled me to do so. Don’t remember what was felt; compassion or pity or anything.” He shifted. “Walter does. Remember feeling upset that her clothes were just a t-shirt, loose pants. Flip-flops. Clothes were not appropriate for winter. Walter figured out that smudges on skin and state of apartment said could not afford winter clothes. Left her the coat.”

Daniel felt his throat close up a little.

“I’ve been seeing less and less of that over the years.” He said softly.

“Years wearing him away, leaving less and less.” Rorschach’s voice was still rough as ever, but quieter.

“...Why didn’t you say anything?” He said. “I could have tried to help you. No one can do this one their own; it’s why I partnered up with you.”

“Didn’t want to get too close.”

“Jesus, why?” He said, exasperated. “I know that being mysterious and untouchable is part of your persona, but I’m your partner. I won’t think less of you or whatever it is you think I will if you decide to show that a part of you is human, you know.”

He paused, considering what he might say next and the ramifications it could hold. It could destroy their partnership irreparably; but he had had enough of Walter’s shame and lies. Daniel was a good partner; and he deserved honesty.

“Daniel.” He said carefully. “Going to tell you something very personal.”

“Okay-”

_”Very personal.”_

“Look, you can tell me-”

He stood up so he could reach across and grab Daniel’s collar; giving it a shake, partly to reaffirm how important this was. Partly to shut him up. Daniel licked his lips nervously, finally stopping his placating words, and nodded.

“Have always been a good partner. Good friend. _Trust you._ ” He growled. “Trust you not to hurt Walter. Or me. Both of us.”

He opened his mouth, but Rorschach tightened his grip. A warning.

“Promise.” He said slowly. “Promise that you will not hurt us. If I tell you this.”

Daniel paused, giving the promise the appropriate moment of silence to mull it over. He nodded again, slowly. After another tense moment, Rorschach jerked his head, accepting it, and let go of the death grip on his shirt.

“Am...fond of you.” He said, bluntly. “Know that I am not easy to...get along with. Have very few friends outside of you. Value our partnership highly; didn’t want to jeopardize it.”

Daniel’s expression morphed into one of puzzlement, likely questioning why, and he briefly felt apprehensive. He was naïve and trusting; he’d revealed his identity to him within a month of their partnership, to someone that was practically a stranger. Daniel had always appreciated him, praised his intelligence and tactics; became a partner and friend to someone who he knew very little about. He likely wouldn’t understand the mix of self-loathing and hatred Walter had for himself.

“Don’t know me very well, outside of partnership. Wanted to keep it that way. If you learned more about Walter; might have wanted to change your mind.”

He told him about the son of a whore that had never finished high school and never worked a job much better than menial, degrading ones, how poor he’d been all of his life. How he’d been raised in a home because his mother had been deemed ‘unfit’, a whore that beat him. He told him about the onlookers screams and shouts as younger Walter put out a cigarette in another boy’s eye and bit like a rabid animal until he was forcefully hauled away. The memories of their shock and horror was the reason that he hadn’t peeled off his mask and grasped Daniel’s hand, introducing himself as ‘Walter’ when Nite Owl had pulled off his cowl to reveal Daniel.

“Wanted _this_ ,” He pointed at his own, shifting latex face. “To be the only face you knew.”

Daniel stared up at him, feeling lost in all the spilled-out confessions. He’d always suspected his partner had some kind of bad past, but this was...god, this was a _lot_. Honestly, he’d be ashamed to admit if that hadn’t gotten know him, had only known _that_ part of him, he’d probably would have shirked away from him just as much as those onlookers had. But Dan had the benefit of knowing that there was more to the guy than his past trauma. He had a dizzying and fascinating knowledge of literature, that they may have opposing political views and he’d debate with Dan all day about them but still shake his hand just as warmly at the end of the day, and he was just as capable of compassion for the victims as he was of violence on their behalf. Until very recently, that shifting ink-blot face was the only one he’d known, but he didn’t need a face to paint an emotional picture of the man.

“Rorschach...” He swallowed, trying to get rid of the hard lump in his throat. “You’re my partner, no matter what face you wear.”

The inkblots shifted, no hint of the expression underneath as his partner stared at him. Eventually though, a leather-clad hand came up; held out to him.

“You are a good friend, Daniel.” Rorschach said, quietly.

They clasped hands then, and held it until it got awkward. They broke away after what was at least a few minutes, and then practically rushed out the door to go patrol to leave behind the claustrophobic closeness of all those revelations. It felt better once they were out, and he could take out the tension on criminals, but there was very little going on tonight and eventually it ended with them milling around two unconscious drug dealers, zip-tied together and waiting to be picked up by police. They waited for the police to arrive, because September had come down hard, with frost on every windowsill in the morning, and sometimes the police took hours to arrive. Drug dealers were the scum of the earth in Rorschach’s opinion, but Nite Owl refused to let them freeze. If the cops didn’t show up in an hour, they would drop them off themselves. So they idled, shifting occasionally to keep their toes from freezing.

Nite Owl stared at the two dealers contemplatively. Had he been Walter, he would have described his expression as ‘weary’.

“I sometimes wonder why we even do this.” He muttered.

It wasn’t a new sentiment. He sometimes said it when it was a particularly aggravating night, when he was tired, or on a particularly depressing night. He could guess it was the latter. He typically said something to offset the statement, usually along the lines of-

Of-

Of…

_…Hurm._

Flashing red and blue lights came well ahead of the cop car. “Well, that’s our cue.”

Nite Owl had taken a few steps before he even realized that Rorschach hadn’t followed. He looked back to see the guy was looking at the ground, the mask wrinkled over where his brow was furrowed, his hand to his chin in his classic ‘deep-thought’ pose.

“Buddy?”

He snapped back to reality, and followed Nite Owl down the lane back to the owl’s nest.

\---

Stepping up the stairs, Dan felt like he’d never really left. It felt good to get out for a little while, but stepping over the threshold was like stepping into a crushing pressure. The weight of catatonic Walter upstairs was almost physical, and Rorschach’s presence, although it helped, didn’t help _much_. He was the logical, much less emotional half, and he just couldn’t picture himself pouring his heart out to him. The guy would probably just stand there, ‘hrm-ing’ at him, waiting for him to shut up and stop talking. His old partner, before the split, would have done pretty much the same only he’d try, in an awkward, halting way, to say something comforting. God, he’d give anything for the two to be re-united. He had a desperate hope that getting them back together would be the magic cure for all of this, and he’d have his friend back, good as new, callo-cally-o-frabjulous-fucking-day.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to rid himself of the familiar itchy dryness that came from holding back tears for too long, and abruptly stopped. The voicemail machine was blinking, he had a message. He grabbed at the phone frantically, hoping against hope that it was a message that Dr. Manhattan was back, that he was going to-

 _‘Hello, this message is for Walter Kovacks. We’ve reviewed your application and we would like you to come in for an interview, please call us back at-_ ’

The rest of the message kind of faded into the background of Dan’s mind, but he managed to write down the number. Afterwards he stared down at the phone, remembering a quiet afternoon spent in the library, his friend carefully typing up his resume. At that he just…stopped trying. He let himself fucking cry, without reserve, feeling stupid and ridiculous. He wasn’t dead, so why did he feel like he was in mourning?

\---

Upstairs, Rorschach was having a very different kind of crisis.

He stared down at the unmoving body in front of him. His other half was the one with all the emotional baggage and instability, the irrational anger and shame. He was a grown child, emotionally stunted, trying to force a black-and-white morality on a grey world. At one time, he’d seen him standing, framed, but the window of his dirty apartment, so depressingly like the one he’d first grown up in, and Rorschach had wondered if he really did want to come back. If he really wanted to be reunited with this half of him, beholden to him with no say whatsoever. He’d been independent for all of a few weeks, but now that he’d experienced what it was like to be aware…it was very appealing to stay that way. It had it’s obvious drawbacks-like not having his investigative abilities-but that could easily be fixed. If he re-united now, with him broken like this, he’d get all of his memories, skills, but Walter himself would most likely be lost. This would have happened anyway if Dr. Manhattan hadn’t interfered, with Walter dying at the first fall of the cleaver, leaving only Rorschach. Having them split like this only delayed it.

Just a few hours ago, he would have been perfectly fine with that, whatever it took to further his goal of being an efficient dispenser of justice. If the price paid was the loss of Walter, it was an acceptable sacrifice. He was dead, or at the very least broken beyond repair, well beyond his-or anyone’s-reach. He knew Daniel wanted Walter back, that he had his hopes that reuniting them would ‘fix’ Walter, but he knew otherwise. Daniel wouldn’t get his friend back, and Rorschach wouldn’t get his other, more emotional half back. Not like he was now. But, at least this way he’d be absorbed into Rorschach, rather than being left to slowly waste away on the bed. He’d never be a full person, he’d always be a two-dimensional persona, but you didn’t need to be in order to be a vigilante.

Or, at least, he’d thought he didn’t need to be.

Rorschach stared down at the empty husk, wondering. He knew what his purpose was. He was a dispenser of justice, protector, unmovable, implacable, _no compromise_. He is more confidant in _what_ he was born to do than many other wiser, older men. However…

_…Why do we do this?_

There was no response forthcoming, of course. All the answers lay in his other half, and he wasn’t saying anything. And he never _would_ get an answer, if Walter never woke up. He put aside his introspection for a moment to crawl in next to him in bed, to hold him close like Walter had wanted.

“Wake up.” He whispered hoarsely.

“Wake up.”

“…I need you.”


	24. Chapter 24

The next morning dawned grey and bleary. Fall had come down early, chasing summer out not more than a week into September, instead of letting it linger and diminish slowly. Still, he squinted into the faint light, hazy with clouds ready to dump cold rain on the streets.

Getting up was difficult. His other half was claustrophobically close, and wriggling out of bed without disturbing him was difficult. So was navigating the snaking IV lines set up next to the bed. Still, he managed all that without mishap, despite feeling light and ethereal. Even his various aches and pains felt distant, and the huddled, stiff form of his other half was as far away as the moon. He felt like he floated down the stairs rather than walked, emerging to ghost around the kitchen.

It was already occupied. Daniel was slumped over a morning cup of coffee, quiet and motionless except for the occasional sip and the rustle of a newspaper page turning. The only other noise was the coffee percolating, and he wandered over too it, waiting for it to fill. He was cold, out from under the blankets and the warmth of a second body, and huddled on the counter over the register. The buttery light from the florescent beating back the cold, pale light from outside made the kitchen appear warmer than it was.

Daniel looked up at him, blinking bleary eyes. “Oh, hey Rorschach. You’re up early.”

He went back to his coffee and newspaper, musing over what he should force himself to have for breakfast. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but he knew he needed to eat. He should probably help Rorschach, not with making something for him, he’d eat anything and was no doubt about to rummage around his fridge after coffee. Walter, on the other hand, needed liquid food. He’d gotten a case of ensure because it was the most nutrient-dense thing he could find. Easier to swallow than puréed peas, he supposed.

“I bought some, uh, liquid food for Walter.” He said, his throat tightening. “You can…you can feed it to him after-”

He choked, and it was stupid that something as mundane as that would affect him. He was guessed he was depressed enough to cry at anything. To his surprise, Rorschach put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He didn’t often do comforting gestures, or, well, do them at all, so Dan looked up at him in confusion. 

He blinked. Stared.

“…Walter?”

 ---

Daniel had never actually _hugged_ him before. The closest he’d ever come was an aborted attempt after a near miss, his body jerking towards him before he’d caught himself, embarrassed and turning away. He’d touched him before though, patching him up after an injury. He’d clapped a hand on his shoulder or sometimes he’d neurotically check him over, subconsciously plucking and adjusting his scarf or the collar of his coat before he realized what he was doing and jerking away. He’d always done those things with a sort of tentative, nervous energy, like he was afraid he’d bite. Right now though, that self-consciousness was nowhere to be found. Daniel held onto him like a drowning man holding onto a life preserver, and he was engulfed.

He let himself be held, let himself feel the texture of his sweater and the rhythm of his heartbeat under his right ear. At one time he wouldn’t have tolerated this invasion of his space, recoiled from Daniel jumping over carefully constructed borders. Now though, he was floating in a grey space that didn’t much concern itself with anything other than what was here and now, because letting himself feel anything else would let the memory of a cleaver striking flesh vibrate up his arm. He doesn’t know how long he’s been…gone…and he probably needs food, but he doesn’t care. He just wants Daniel to hold him until the memories of failure and horror fade away. Dan seems to be in an obliging mood, clinging and shaking with sobs, squeezing tighter and tighter until he can barely breath. He wants to just let him go on, maybe if he squeezed enough his mind-shattered like the dog’s-would press back together, healed. Whole.

“Daniel.” He rasps. “Holding too tight.”

He jerked back, looking deeply remorseful. His face was red and puffy, streaked with tears, his hair damp with sweat and his nose streaming. He was not a picturesque crier. He’s never seen him truly cry, maybe tear up and weep a little over a particularly emotional moment. He touches a wet cheek, fascinated.

A tumult interrupts the moment as Rorschach practically tumbles down the stairs, looking around wildly. As soon as he spots Walter he strides over and looks him over intently, standing claustrophobically close. 

“Okay?”

“Yes.” Walter husks, his voice quiet and raspy from disuse.

Rorschach looks him over again. “…Need to eat.”

“Oh god, yes.” Daniel says suddenly, standing up from where he’d been bent over to hold Walter. “You haven’t eaten real food in _days_.”

“Not hungry.”

Dan gives him a pleading look. “Buddy, _please_ eat.”

He’d always found it difficult to refuse an especially sincere pleading from Daniel, and in his shape he simply doesn’t have the energy to resist. He nods, and Rorschach guides him to a chair. Whatever power enabled him to get down the stairs to the kitchen has deserted him, leaving him shaky and weak. He sits, being watched warily by Rorschach as Daniel hurries to comply.

“Tomato soup or Chicken?”

Just the thought of the vivid red makes him shudder. “Chicken.”

It takes just a moment, Daniel foregoing the stove in favor of the microwave to heat up the soup, hurrying even though he really wasn’t _going_ anywhere. He’s so anxious Walter is concerned he’ll spill the soup everywhere with how much he shaking, but it’s placed in front of him without incident. He forces himself to eat, because while he _is_ actually hungry, despite what he says, he doesn’t want to eat. He’s so weak though, he’s unable to lift the spoon to his mouth more than a few times, his hand shaking and spilling it everywhere after just the fourth mouthful. With a gentleness that surprises them both, Rorschach wipes him off with a napkin, and lifts the bowl to his mouth so his can just drink it instead. He manages the entire bowl, and even half a can of ensure before he can’t stomach any more, the thick nauseating sweetness of it nearly making him vomit.

Daniel cleans, and resorts to his usual babbling to fill the silence. “We should, ah, take you to see the doctor soon. You’ve been out for nearly a week, so…”

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t. But he knows that being comatose for nearly a week can’t have been good on his body, and that he should. He nods along, agreeing to the checkup, trying his best to sit up straight and not slump over the table. He’s tired, and feel like he needs to sleep although that’s basically what he’s been doing all week. Rorschach watches him attentively, and finally puts an end to Daniel’s babbling.

“And we should probably-”

“Daniel.” He grunted, and the man stumbled to a stop. “Should take him back to bed. Needs to recover.”

“No.” Walter insisted, in spite of the frown on Rorschach’s face. “On the couch. Tired of the bed. Don’t want to sleep yet.”

He was actually somewhat afraid of what might happen if he fell asleep, he might slip back into that coma. Part of him was thinking it might not be so bad if he did, and that scared him even more.

He half thought Rorschach would object, protective of his welfare, but he didn’t. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was afraid too, and that’s what got him to agree. He helped Walter too the couch, gently setting him down. Daniel followed them in, looking lost and uncertain. Rorschach looked up at Daniel lingering in the doorway.

“You haven’t eaten.” He says, and Dan looked a little guilty. He had, after all, forgone food to make sure Walter was fed.

“Well, no…”

“Make yourself some food. Bring it in here to eat.” He ordered him, and Daniel scurried off. Walter raised an eyebrow at his other half, who was being uncharacteristically maternal towards him.

He just shrugged. “Plenty of practice with you.”

“You…you were the one taking care of me?” Walter said, surprised.

“Always do, in a way.” He said, settling in next to him.

There was something off in that tone. Walter looked closely at his other half, and noticed the slumped posture, the drooping eyes.

“Are you…okay?” he asked, feeling a bit odd asking, well, himself that question, but it seemed like he was tired more than he should be.

Rorschach laid his head back, looking tired. “Wasn’t sure you would wake. Was worried.”

“Why?” Walter asked, confused. “It’s…not like we were on the best of terms.”

“Understand you have your shortcomings. Anger. Pride.” He grunted. “Homosexual feelings for partner, low self-esteem-”

“Didn’t ask for a _list_ -” Walter flushed, realizing Daniel might just overhear.

“-But also have assets.” Rorschach continued. “Empathy. Passion. Ambition. Don’t have those. Thought that were unnecessary, but they aren’t. Figured out they are essential to my purpose. Gives it definition.”

He paused then, and Walter remained patiently silent. He could recognize when he was struggling to put something into words, and waited. After a moment, Rorschach turned towards him. His face was still expressionless, as always, but he could see the struggle to articulate what needed to be said.

“Why do we do this?” He said, quietly.

“Because,” Walter put a hand on his shoulder. “It needs to be done.”

He cocks his head, digesting this, and while it doesn’t answer _everything_ , it is an answer. The entire answer is in his other half, looked in another body. He pushes past the hand and presses against Walter, wishing he could meld back with him and be a whole person again. Walter hugs him, and sooths him as best as he can, understanding wordlessly what he was trying to say. Walter pats him, and mulls over what was said. His other half could have easily deserted him, with very little consequences. Instead, he’d judged having a volatile emotional half was more important than complete freedom. Apparently, the Walter half of him was worth having. He swallowed, feeling not only humbled and deeply grateful, but for the first time that he was essential and needed.

“…I’m sorry.” Walter sighed, and Rorschach looked up at him, curious. “For treating you badly. Sometimes I take my anger out on you. Took care of me, didn’t desert me. I…I’m grateful that you did. Thank you.”

It felt…strange to apologize to, well, himself, but it’s true. He’s always taken his anger out on himself, for being weak, for being wrong. Perhaps he didn’t deserve the abuse as much as he thought he did.

“Hnn, am sorry as well. Know you have needs, didn’t even try to fulfill them.” Rorschach sighed. “…even if wasn’t capable of it, realize that now. Don’t have the empathy required to satisfy a need for being loved. Sexual gratification not enough.”

Walter gently squeezes him, and Rorschach tries to return the gentle affection with a kiss, because he is the more physical half and that’s what he knows. It’s strange to kiss his other half without an ulterior motive, like living out fantasies, but he goes with it anyways because it’s how Rorschach expresses himself. It’s brief, just a brushing of lips, and afterwards they both subside, limbs tangled like they were one thing.

After a moment, Rorschach raised his head, eyeing the shadow near the kitchen doorframe. It was the right size and shape for a patiently waiting Daniel that was just out of sight, shifting from foot to foot wanting to come in but waiting to be polite and let them have their private talk. He’d probably heard most of it, but he really didn’t have the energy to care.

“Can come in now Daniel.” He said quietly.

He did, still looking concerned and worried. He readied himself for a bout of inassent attentiveness, but Daniel was quiet and subdued. He carefully set down his own toast and eggs, and then, another plate of the same. Dan smiled a little and pushed it towards Rorschach. The vigilante’s stomach growled, reminding himself he hadn’t eaten breakfast either.

“Thank you Daniel.” He said, breaking away from Walter’s arms to grab it, and settled back into his grasp to messily eat it.

Dan looked down at the two of them with a thoughtful look on his face. He noted how the two of them were curled in so close, whereas before they’d always been okay with invading each other’s personal space but right now the two of them looked like they couldn’t stand not to be touching each other. It warmed his heart to see them so close, seeing as how just before all this happened they’d been at odds. Apparently, they’d made up.

More than that he was just so fucking _glad_ that Walter was awake. Awake at least, even thought he was probably (definitely) still messed up with what had happened with the Blair case- _‘in the stomach of two dogs’ Rorschach screams in his memory, and he can only guess what context that short outburst lies in_ -but at least now he’s no longer in a coma, as unreachable as the moon. He can at least do something now, rather than twiddling his thumbs.

Walter is struggling to stay awake, and makes a frustrated noise. “Shouldn’t be so tired, haven’t been doing much the last week.”

“You also haven’t been doing much eating either. I mean, liquid food doesn’t have much nutrition.” Daniel said, gently. “And you’ve been lying down for a week, so your muscles might have gotten unused to work of any kind. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

He cautiously put an arm around them, stretching a little and getting really close to include Rorschach. Whether or not his partner(s?) could tolerate close contact depended on the weather, but he was _mostly_ okay with an arm around the shoulder (hugs were right out). He just…he _needed_ to hold the guy in some way, feel the shift and play of his shoulders under his arm rising and falling with his breathing and small movements. He wished he could wrap his arms around him and press his face against the guys chest, hear his heartbeat, but he knew Walter wouldn’t tolerate it, even as tired as was.

Rorschach seemed in agreement, but he had less reservations about doing what he wanted. He pressed against Walter, burying his face in the crook of his other half’s neck. Walter didn’t object, and even leaned into Daniel, settling back comfortably against him, still struggling to stay awake. Daniel smiled down at his exhausted face, eyelids flicking up and down in a useless battle against sleep.

“Go on.” Dan said, gently encouraging. “Rest a little. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

That seemed to be the reassurance he needed, and he slowly drifted into a light doze, devoid of dreams.


	25. Chapter 25

Recovery was a slow, painful process.

The physical side of it was all on Walter. What limited nutrition he’d gotten clearly wasn’t enough, he’d lost weight and felt weak and dizzy often. Getting up stairs was a struggle, and he tired easy, winded by even light exercise. Going to the doctor, he’d been recommended a bland diet that would be easy on his system, and to keep drinking the ensure. He also instructed how to safely cut back on the medication that he’d been continuously administered while he was unconscious. It troubled him that he’d been dosed with medication without his knowledge or consent, but he couldn’t yell at his other half for doing so. He had only been following the doctor’s orders for his own good.

Although, it made Rorschach wonder, really wonder, if it was his heartfelt plea that had woken him, or simply the process of man-made chemicals. The doctor could give no answers, no distinct yes or no. He hoped it was the former.

As for the mental half of it, the trauma of the Blair case was still a raw, open wound in their psyche. It helped, in a strange way, that they were separated. Walter was sure he would have just faded away completely had they not been separated. Although, it was painful to watch his other half have his own form of trauma. His failure to protect Walter, even though it wasn’t his fault, had hit him hard and was still hitting him, with him cut off from Walter and unable to help. He did his best to sooth him, as having someone else to focus on distracted him a little from his own pain. And Rorschach did his best to return the comfort, holding his shaking form after dreams of split skulls and chewed femurs.

Daniel hovered on the outside, a ghost in peripheral, wanting to help but not knowing how. All the books he reads advocates therapy, medication, and time. His partner has an identity to worry about, and he doubted the man would want to talk this over with a stranger, so that left out a therapist. Medication…well, only a therapist could prescribe it, and all the information he could find regarding the myriad pills available had no clear statements on whether they offered a benefit any more than a sugar pill*. Time, they did have, but Daniel had become Nite Owl because of his hatred for inaction and twiddling his thumbs while his friend(s?) suffered was an anathema to him.

At least he had someone to talk too, though.

“Hey there, Danny.” Hollis said soothingly, shooing him in. “Come on in.”

He stepped in, already feeling a little of the weight that he’d been carrying the last few weeks easing back in the warmth of his mentor’s presence. “Thanks, It’s good to see you Hollis.”

“Anytime. Beer?”

“Please.”

They settled in, Hollis into his customary chair, Dan on the couch. They chatted, small talk first while their beer’s perspired and Dan had gotten enough alcohol in him to get to the point.

“Heard you were having some issues with your partner?” Hollis finally said.

Dan sighed. “Yeah I…I mean, I told you he did wake up but…fights not over.”

“Dan,” Hollis reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “This is real life, not a comic book. There’s no instant fixes here.”

“I _know_ , it’s just-” Dan sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Best thing you can do is realize that you are not _personally_ responsible for his health and wellness.” He said gently. “I know you Dan, you take everything to heart, including things you just can’t control. You can do your best-and I’m sure you will-but please don’t take it as a personal failure if his recovery is rocky or takes longer than it ‘should’. His recovery will run its own course, all you can do is stand by and offer support.”

Dan let out a long, shuddery breath, and nodded. “Did you…did you ever have to help a friend with something like this?”

“Sometimes.” He said, quietly. “You see a lot of horrible things as a cop, name of the game there. Saw some heavy things myself, too.”

Dan looked up at him, concerned. “You’ve never mentioned anything like that.”

“I only ever told you the glory stories, really. The ones that turned out roses. The ones that don’t…well, they aren’t the kind of stories I ever felt comfortable telling.” He shifted, looking a little ashamed. “I should’ve anyways, no matter my feelings. Let you know that it doesn’t all turn out with the villain riding in the back of a cop car.”

“It’s okay Hollis, I understand.” Despite all his hero worship, he knows his mentor is human, after all. “Also, did you see that just when you were a cop or…?”

“Not when I was Nite Owl, well, not personally.” He paused, looking sad. “Poor Silhouette did though, she worked almost exclusively on missing kids, exploitation cases, and human trafficking. Those are, nine out of ten, the grittiest, most disturbing things you can investigate. She had a lot of stress. I…”

He paused then, the melancholy look on his face deepening. “I hate to say it, but if she hadn’t been killed by that asshole, the strain from that might have done it anyway. Or she would have been neighbors with Byron upstate. I think the only thing that kept her going so long was me and Byron, helping out where we could. I wish she might have let us on to her real identity, let us do more, _be_ more than just a helping hand and a masked ally. Having a friend out of costume does a load of good, I don’t know where I would have been without Byron and our occasional day off from the stress, a time out to just be friends sharing a walk on the pier.”

He paused again, thoughtful. “Honestly, I should have had more days like that, instead of letting myself get so caught up in the police and vigilante business. Should have got Byron to join me, too. He had something going on, some past baggage that he was trying to get rid of by being a vigilante, and the obsession with being Mothman and the grind of day in, day out finally got to him. But I was too damn busy being Nite Owl to really pick up on the signs.”

He turns to Dan then, perfectly serious. “Look, try not to be like me and By, Dan. Do your best to get that guy-and _you_ -out of costume an out into the daylight, okay? Get yourselves to the docks, the park, hell, the zoo for all I care. Take your minds off the unsolved cases and the cases that went bad for a least a day. Your friend Rorschach reminds me of Silhouette. He’s got her obsession with the dark cases and keeping her identity close to her chest, as bad as HJ. That’s a bad combo, trust me. But thanks to this bizarre meddling by the Doc, you know his face and name, and once he’s well enough to walk on his own don’t let him slink back into anonymity. You’ll experience pushback, believe me, Silhouette snapped my head off when I asked for her name once. But letting her drift away without persisting was the biggest mistake I made.”

Realizing he’d gone on a rant, Hollis pulled back, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry son, didn’t mean to bring an old man’s regrets into this.”

“No its…” Dan tried to speak around the lump in his throat, feeling keenly how much his outburst resonated with him. “Its…good advice, thank you.”

Hollis sipped at his beer, trying to hide his embarrassment, letting silence sink in for a few moments. “Well, anyway. I wanted to ask about that Blair case. Did you find anything…?”

Dan sighed shakily. “I found a little. I followed sightings to this guy who’s fingers he broke, told me about Gerald Grice who had her. His address, though, led me to a smoldering pile of rubble.”

Hollis’ eyes widened. “Do you think he…?”

“I don’t know.” Dan said softly. “There was too much rubble to see. It could be that theirs…bodies…under all that, but I don’t…”

He trailed off, and swallowed. No one he’d questioned had any information of the whereabouts of Gerald Grice after that night. He hadn’t been seen since.

_…I don’t want to see if there’s really bodies under there_

_I don’t want to know what really happened_

_I don’t want to know what happened to her and if my friend is a murderer_

_I don’t want-_

“He…he isn’t very forthcoming.” Dan said, pulling himself away from dark thoughts.

Hollis stared at him, seeming to know what’s on his mind, his gaze worried. “Danny, if he’s done what I think he’s done…”

Dan tensed. “I cant. I can’t turn him in even if…I _can’t_.”

“I know Dan, that’s…not quite what I wanted to talk about.” Hollis gave him a deeply troubled look. “Things…can happen in the line of duty, Dan. Sometimes they’re accidents. Sometime not. I’ve had to take down someone once, in self-defense. But intentionally killing someone…that can affect you, _should_ affect you, if your human. Trauma like this affects everyone different, but I’ve known people that got abusive towards their loved ones, or taking out their anger on other people. _If_ he starts patrolling again, and if he ever starts getting disproportionately violent with the scum you deal with on a daily basis, you don’t hesitate. Don’t let him get worse. Speak up, tell him he can’t do that crap. Sometimes getting to be judge, juror, _and_ executioner once is too much. I don’t want you to have to deal with another guy like Max, once he killed he didn’t stop.

I want you to promise me, if you ever don’t feel safe, if he ever does become violent, you call me and come to me _right away_. I don’t care if you’re a vigilante and trained to take down people, he’s very skilled and I know you. If he got violent, you won’t defend yourself. His trauma doesn’t give him the right to turn you into a punching bag, or do the same to other people.”

Dan swallowed, feeling shakily. “O-okay. What if he tries to…to hurt…”

“If you ever think he might try to…hurt himself…don’t hesitate to call 911. Please don’t. I’ve seen too many lives lost on the beat because people hesitated and tried to save their loved ones themselves.” Hollis said quietly. “It might take him a long time to forgive you for it, and the image of him being forcibly dragged off in a straightjacket with never leave you, but it’s better that than dead. I…I had to do it for Byron.”

Dan stared at him, eyes wide. “How do you deal with that?”

Hollis drew in a long breath. “On his better days, he…he says ‘thank you’. I try to remember that in between the times he’s on his worse days and blaming me.”

He turned his face away, and Dan could see that his eyes were too bright. He felt shocked; he’d never seen his mentor close to tears. For the first time _he_ was the one to put a steadying hand on Hollis’ shoulders, a strange feeling of dissonance settling in along with the shared grief.


	26. Chapter 26

Rorschach wanted to get out, to patrol, but he didn’t want to leave Walter alone and unguarded. He’s perfectly safe, in Daniel’s brownstone, cosseted by thick brick walls and a buffer zone of an upscale neighborhood between him and the seedy parts of New York. He was physically safe. What he worried about, though, was not someone breaking in to physically harm him, but a nebulous feeling of danger, like the shadows would detach themselves from the walls and creep towards his other half, to swallow and devour-

_Walter may dream of bones, but he dreams of the dark. It’s as black as the space behind stars, and it creeps towards the light and suffocates it. Nothing remains. Only the void._

But the walls are starting to close in, and he can’t help but pace. He wants to be out, and he wants to stay. He is normally decisive, making his choices with a clear conscience and no second-guessing. This constant back and forth is wearing on him and Daniel notices, giving him concerned looks.

“You okay?”

He shook his head.

“Uh…care to elaborate?”

“Want to patrol.” He growls. “Don’t want to leave.”

Daniel makes a vague sympathetic noise and tries to sooth him with the usual hand on his shoulder. He shrugs out from under it. He doesn’t _want_ to be soothed, he wants to do something. Dan withdraws, looking hurt.

“Not angry with you.” He says, wanting to appease him. The memory of his anger and the way he’d alienated Daniel just after Walter went under is still fresh, and he doesn’t want to sink back into that. Still, the frustration burns like a hot lump in his belly. “Only…frustrated. Can’t do anything for Walter but watch him, at the very least could get out and punch someone that deserves it. Usually feel better after.”

Daniel chuckles a little. “If you want to patrol, I mean we certainly could-”

He shakes his head. “Can’t leave Walter here alone. Not safe.”

His partner gives him a concerned look. “ ‘Not safe?’ What are you worried might happen to him?”

He pauses. “Don’t know. Have a intuition that he shouldn’t be left alone. But don’t know why, only a vague sense of…danger. Not physical danger but…”

He dithered. Walter was the one with the vocabulary. Daniel seemed to sympathize anyway, and this time he let the hand settle on his shoulder, although it didn’t really help to sooth him. “I mean, if you want to go out I could stay with him-”

He twitched. He didn’t know why, but going out alone was nearly as bad. “No. Not alone.”

Dan frowns, like he wants to know why, but he shakes his head. It’s another of the vague feelings, no set ‘why’. It has a tinge of fear to it, but not fear of physical harm. It’s vexing, and he makes a frustrated noise, withdrawing.

Daniel lets him go, realizing that no matter how well meant, no amount of comfort would help. “How about I ask if Hollis can stay with him? Would that be okay with you?”

He tilts his head, considering. He’s met the man a handful of times before the split, and he feels safe, trustworthy. A good man, with a high level of integrity. He envisioned both Hollis and Daniel like bright, steady flames. Perhaps if he surrounded him with enough people like that, it would keep away the blackness of the void that disturbed his dreams.

“Wouldn’t mind.” He paused. “Not sure if he would tolerate being ‘babysat’.”

Daniel snorted, amused. “Well, it can’t hurt to ask. Worst he can do is say no.”

\---

Walter is not happy, as expected. He hates to be coddled, to be helped, having spent so much of his life struggling against all odds to claw any amount of success in his life. As a product of the government foster system, he’d been dealt a worse hand than most, starting his life as a fresh teenager that had to figure out how to balance rent, utilities, food, and a job all by himself with no assistance from parents or other relatives. He’s had some limited assistance from uncle Sam, but that had all ended years ago when he’d turned a legal adult. That, and combined with the hollow pity from donors to the home, made him curl his lip in extreme hatred for any form of assistance, no matter how well meant.

He was, however, not entirely unreasonable.

“Why do you keep insisting someone _be_ here with me?” He said, annoyed. “I’m not at full strength but I’m not an invalid either.”

He paused. It wasn’t an outright refusal, but he was asking _why_ , and that’s a question he can’t quite answer.

“Indulge me.” He growled.

Walter glared at him.

“Still need someone to help you with stairs.” And added: “Not asking for much.”

A pause, and then he sighed. “No, you’re not. Fine. Invite him over.”

Rorschach nodded, pleased with himself. Their relationship had improved a bit; Walter only put up half the fight he usually would have. Perhaps theirs hope that he’s also becoming more amenable to the idea that it’s okay to accept help from other people, too. He’d be onboard with that; in his opinion Walter put too much pressure on himself to be so self-sufficient to the point that it was detrimental, when it would be better, more _logical_ to accept assistance.

Now, however, was not the time or place for that debate.

He crawled in next to him, and held him as was their custom for the last few weeks. It seemed to help, although there was the little niggling thought at the back of their head(s?) that he was basically hugging himself. He tried not to dwell on the thought; because then it would invite the statement that he was, technically, talking to himself too. It started to look a little too much like schizophrenia, like a hall of mirrors, every thought reflected back.

They settled in, but Walter stared at the ceiling in quiet contemplation, his brow wrinkled in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts.” His other half inquired.

After a long moment, Walter looked at him. “…What happened? After.”

He frowned.

“After you found me?”

He paused, not sure if he should say anything. He has a feeling that Walter will find out anyway, as once they reunite He’ll be able to see the dark images in his head.

“Pulled you into a sheltered corner, and waited.” He said, quietly. “Grice came home, not long after. Threw the dog’s bodies at him to incapacitate him. Chained him to furnace and interrogated him, until he told me what happened.”

He took in a deep breath. “Blubbered and begged, but didn’t listen. Just looked out the window then. Couldn’t see you, but could picture you. Eye’s closed, unmoving.

Looked back at him. He was just a man. Fat. Balding. No muscles, could barely fight back. But he’d managed to reach in his greasy, stubby fingers inside of you and hollow you out. Killed you, and left just a void.”

He pauses, and they lie, breathing together in the dark. He doesn’t want to finish.

“Go on.” Walter says, gently.

“…Left him chained with a hacksaw near him. Drenched the place in kerosene, and lit the match. Looked at him, this ridiculous little man begging for his life. Crying, with snot running down his face. Told him that the hacksaw wouldn’t cut through chains in time, left him the option of sawing off his hand.” He sucked in a breath. “Then dropped the match.”

Walter stared at him, eyes wide.

“Took you across the street, to watch. Could feel the heat from there. No one got out.”

He swallowed and swallowed. “Don’t know…don’t know why I did that. No reason to. Girl was dead. You were dead. Could have left the man for the cops. Despite his efforts, there was enough evidence around to send him to the electric chair. Not given to…to emotions like that. Never bit a boy’s face. Never wanted to kill, to tip over that edge. There was no _reason_ for me to do that.”

He stares at his other half, his throat feeling as chocked and raw as it had when he’d inhaled the smoke from the burning building. “ _There was no reason to do that._ ”

Walter reached out, very carefully. His other half’s face is wet with unbidden tears, and he keeps repeating that line, very quietly, face frozen in a hundred-yard stare. Inside, he’s a mess. He’s not the emotional one, Walter is, and he’s not used to this torrent of emotional agony.

Walter quietly sooths him as best as he can, that information rattling around in his head. His other half has killed. _Deliberately_ killed. It’s wrong. Walter’s the violent one, the one just on the brink of going too far. But the ‘death’ of Walter had drawn out a reaction from him that was terrifying in its unfamiliarity. To both of them. It’s terrifying to Walter in that Rorschach _is_ him, and while he’s hovered on the edge of killing he’s never gone over, pulled back from it by just that little shred of himself that insists it’s wrong, it’s _wrong_. While he’s never sure which part of him had kept insisting on that, he’s always glad, after, that he never walked off that precipice, shaking in his flat at what he’d _almost_ done, that tinny little voice warring with the snarling violence that had been left wanting, growling that they’d have deserved it.

He sucks in a shuddery breath. “And…after?”

It takes a while, but eventually his other half is calm enough to answer. He continues, telling him that he’d taken him ‘home’ to Daniel’s, washed them both of the ash and blood. Cared for him. The slow distancing between him and Daniel, how he was unable to relate to him, how the distance between them was suspiciously Walter-shaped.

The shaky confessions, the unwanted son of a whore and the blood in his mouth, the whispered remarks and stares, all through his life-

The acceptance, the reassurance _“You’re my partner no matter what face you wear-“_

He swallows when his other half finally winds down, ending on a piquant note, the point he’d made in the first few hours he’d come back. That Rorschach realized that he needed his other, human half.

“You…you told him all that?” He say, his voice hoarse with emotion. “And he…accepted it?”

He only nods, feeling weak from spilling everything out, but still managed to grunt in surprise when he’s hugged tightly.

“Thank you,” He rasps, voice trembling. “Thank you, for…for having the courage when to say it when I couldn’t.”

Rorschach deflects, saying it wasn’t exactly courageous, but to Walter it is. He’s always had a problem with being vulnerable, it’s part of Rorschach’s reason for him existing, but Walter still thanks him anyway. He thanks him in a way the Rorschach would understand, and this time he’s the one being kissed. True to his human half, though, it’s gentle, each press a wordless expression of gratitude. True to Rorschach it turns into something more, but it’s different from their usual. The self-loathing is gone, and more of a way to get as close as they physically can, to close the distance that almost feels like a physical ache.

Walter’s still weak, and tires easy, so he lays back with Rorschach on top. Rorschach is tired too, from the stress and all the emotions that he’s gone through the last few days, the upheavals tiring him out like a bad patrol does. He doesn’t have the energy for penetrative sex, so they rock together slowly, the movement more like slow waves rather than the usual frenetic thrusting.

(Dan is a thoughtful host, and theirs a tiny tube of unscented hand lotion in the nightstand, dusty and forgotten in the back. He tries not to think of what he might think of it being used for something other than hands.)

The orgasm is a slow cresting wave, and the aftershocks are not the usual loathing, the revulsion. Theirs only the feeling of sweat drying on skin, and quiet breathing.


	27. Chapter 27

They patrolled at night, so Hollis came over late in the evening, through the tunnel entrance. Dan had often told him he was welcome to come through the front door like a civilized human being, but it was hell to park in this neighborhood when all the curbs clearly read ‘no parking’. The tunnel entrance was in a somewhat dodgy area of town, but his beater car wasn’t likely to be disturbed. He came into the kitchen, toting a six-pack of dark lager. He was more of a plain Budweiser guy, not really interested in fancy beers, but they were Dan’s favorite. He would have put them in the fridge, but a familiar figure was blocking him.

Rorschach was digging through the fridge, only throwing him a cursory glance before resuming his foraging. Hollis was dismayed to note there wasn’t much to make anything resembling a meal in there, but it didn’t seem to matter to Rorschach. He scrounged up an opened can of beans, still half full, and stirred in the remains of a tub of sour cream lurking in the back. The last slice of cheese was then added, and he spooned it up. Cold.

He made a mental note to urge Dan to go grocery shopping.

Right now though, he had more pressing matters at hand. “So…You’re the vigilante half, right?”

He nodded. “Walter is in the living room.”

He turned to go, and looked back. “I’ll see if I can’t get some real food delivered for Walter if he hasn’t eaten.”

“Would be appreciated.” He grunted, kicking the kitchen door closed. “Daniel has been reluctant to leave now that he’s awake.”

Hollis gave him a sympathetic look. “I can’t really blame him. I imagine you don’t want to leave either.”

He dithered. “…Don’t like the idea of leaving both of them here unprotected.”

He automatically gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder, a gesture he was used to giving Daniel and had never done to his partner, but the other man didn’t seem to mind. “I’ll get something for you too. I imagine that can wasn’t enough for an active young man like yourself.”

“Thank you.” He said and moved off to go collect Daniel for patrol. “Doctor requires bland, simple food. Soups and similar items.”

Hollis set the beer in the fridge and wandered into the living room. Dan was currently fussing over the fireplace, setting the burner. It was gas, which wasn’t the same as the real thing, but it still put out a welcome source of heat on this chilly fall evening.

Walter was there, the first time he’d seen the man without a mask. He had rather severe cheekbones and a jaw like a bulldog. The red hair wasn’t much of a surprise, Dan had told him that when he’d patched him up that he was pale with millions of freckles. He’s all in all, ordinary, lean and ugly instead of broad-shouldered and generically handsome like all the other heroes he’s worked with. His was a face you’d never notice in a crowd. Except for the eyes. He’s got a stare as intense as a ray of sunlight through a magnifying lens, and it’s really easy to see that’s the kind of eyes that belong to a detective.

He’s not the only detective in the room though, and he can’t help but notice the wariness in the other man’s eyes, like a feral cat. He also notices poor Daniel has lost weight. Not much, but enough to be noticed, and that is never a good sign. He’s suddenly very, _very_ glad that Rorschach had wanted to get out and take Dan with him. He needs to get out, and badly. He’ll be able to deal with Walter’s guardedness if it gets these two out of the house.

“Hello, Dan.” He said, and the young man turned towards him, smiling.

“Hey, Hollis.” He says and moves towards the kitchen entryway, where Rorschach is waiting impatiently, already dressed and ready to go.

Within moments, they’re gone, leaving just him and Walter. 

\---

The patrol was a blend of fists and adrenalin, and just might be one of their most productive nights. It seems like every gang from here to Brooklyn has a beef with them and something to prove, and Nite Owl is more than happy to provide, all the despair and anxiety of the last few weeks forgotten in the sounds of curses and stinging knuckles.

(He’ll pay for it later, feeling like he’d committed a kind of betrayal when he remembers Walter at home who doesn’t have the luxury of forgetting-)

Right now though, he feels high on victory, drunk on conquest, staggering in the back alleys as the weak dawn light starts to break on the horizon. He’s exhausted, but he doesn’t really want the night to end, to go back the daytime worries, wringing his hand uselessly over all that he couldn’t do for Walter.

“God, I’d forgotten how much I’ve missed this.” He gasped, sinking into his pilot’s chair. “I gotta say though, I’m going to be sore tomorrow. I can’t believe I’m out of shape from just a week or so of not being out.”

“Hnn, not so much out of practice, more of a case of backlog.” Rorschach huffed. “Scum forget their fear quickly.”

He chuckled, and they headed home. It wasn’t until he got back to the nest that he noticed his partner was bleeding, a small stain on his white scarf at the back of his neck. It was just a shallow cut, but he obligingly agreed to let Daniel clean it. Dan chatted away, still riding that adrenaline high, though he could feel the crash starting to creep in.

“Thanks for having my back, I thought I knocked that one punk out cold.”

“Always have your back.”

Dan smiled at him and slapped on a bandage. “Yeah, which is something I’m always grateful for, especially when you save my life. Remember that guy calling himself hacksaw? You tackled him like a linebacker, I was sure he’d shot you.”

“Were defenseless. Protecting you.”

“Yeah, by almost getting killed yourself.”

“Would die for you.” He said, so matter-of-factly that Dan’s fingertips stuttered on the cut.

He swallowed hard. It was little moments like this, in between the big ones like his partner almost taking a bullet for him, that reminded him of the depth and breadth of his partner's devotion. How fucking glad he was to have him, through all of this. How glad he was to have him as a partner and friend, for more than just because of simple loyalty. For listening to him babble about engineering, encouraging him to be a better vigilante, for hell, sharing a _hot dog_ with him.

And as strange as it sounded, he was kind of glad for the split. Since then, he’s learned all these hidden parts of his partner that added new depth and complexity, and more reasons for him to-

(a sudden memory of the animal shelter and the way he’d smiled and listening to the budgie whistle 'pop goes the weasel' completely enamored with it, makes his chest squeeze, and that’s a bad sign.)

In the middle of all this, that little problem had been forgotten, quashed under worry and anxiety, but it comes back the instant he has a few moments not worrying.

_…Aw hell._

\---

“You hungry? I was going to order in.”

At his tentative nod, he added. “I know the doc has you on a bland kind of diet, but I’m sure we can find something you can eat.”

Walter considered this. “Daniel keeps take-out menus in the drawer next to the sink.”

He went in and looked, raising an eye at the sheer volume of menus. “Well, at least there's lots to pick from.”

An amused huff behind him. “Says he doesn’t know how to cook.”

“Yeah, I guessed.” He chuckled, and snagged a few.

It took a while because delivery was not known for its ability to be stomached by someone recovering from a coma, but they eventually settled on a Chinese food place that had a dish of plain grilled chicken and rice. Somehow, it gets out over the phone that it’s for his ‘sick friend’ (he was trying to get them to hold back on the teriyaki sauce) and some Chinese grandmother comes onto the line, and like all grandmothers no matter the nationality, throws in some special soup that she says ‘he eat, he feel better!’ for free. He thanks her profusely, even though he’s sure she only understands one word out of three, and comes back to the couch, Walter cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Grandmothers.” He said, by way of explanation.

Walter looked faintly amused for a moment, before his expression went back to a careful neutrality, that wariness lurking just behind it. He didn’t really _get_ it, why was this kid so guarded around him? They may have only met a handful of times, but it’s not like he was a complete stranger. It kind of concerned him that he didn’t feel quite at ease with his partner’s mentor.

Well, he’d just have to fix that.

“So, did the doc put you on some kind of exercise regimen to get your strength back?”

Walter frowned. “Said I should go to physical therapy. Declined.”

“You gotta do something though, you’ve been bed bound and lost a lot of muscle mass.” Hollis said, concerned.

“Not going to go to therapy.”

He wanted to ask ‘why’ but he had a feeling he shouldn’t. Dan hadn’t been able to say much about his friend, but he was a detective and the way he’d tried not to describe the man’s apartment had given him the idea that his partner was not well off. Physical therapy is expensive, and if you don’t have insurance, it’s expensive enough to put someone on the streets. He knows what it’s like, growing up with eight siblings and a tight budget, the way it hurts when you’re the only one in class with shoes that have got holes in them. Dan had bemoaned his stubbornness, but he knows just how much easier it is to convince your friend its stubbornness, rather than admit under pain of death that you just can’t afford it. And Dan, bless his heart, has never felt the bite of poverty, so he’s got a bit of a blind spot when it comes to certain things. Well, he may have been able to convince Danny, but he’s got special insight _and_ a special interest in seeing this man succeed. And more than that, he’s gotta figure a way to let this man know that keeping this kind of info from his partner hurts more than helps, because it’s damaging to both of you when you're viewed as irrational and bad-tempered when you have a very valid reason underneath all the assholery.

“Eh, I can’t blame you, it’s a hassle. Still, you should exercise.” He paused. “I could help. I had back surgery once. I know what you need to do to get back into fighting condition.”

Walter considered it, then tentatively nodded.

\---

“Daniel?”

He sucked in a breath, the air tinged with the smell of sweat and that peculiar, musty smell unique to Rorschach from where he’d let his head tip forward and rest between his shoulder blades.

“Okay, Daniel?”

“Yeah, I uh-” He coughed, and swallowed, trying to get the stinging in his eyes to go away and his voice to stop quivering. “I just-“

His voice stalls out, choked off. Goddamnit, he feels ridiculous that he’s on the edge of blubbering and for no particular reason other than the aforementioned ones, like being so glad that he has his partner. And, well, for the one-sided…god, he can’t feel this _now_ because what if he finds out? He can so easily imagine him curling his lip in disgust. He can see him moving out too, and never seeing him again. And then what? What kind of consequence would an upset like that have on him, so soon after that level of trauma? What if he goes even further off the deep end and what if he doesn’t even have his shitty apartment anymore, because god, he’s been here long enough he’s probably missed rent and lost his job and-

(some lucid part of him is rationalizing this, saying the hysteria now is just a delayed reaction to the stress of the last few weeks, brought on by exhaustion but it’s not much comfort.)

“Daniel. _Daniel._ ” His voice and a touch on the side of his head brings him back to himself, and he forces himself to stop hyperventilating, calming under the fingers lightly pressed to his temple. Rorschach has turned around to look at him, the mask has gone now so Dan can see he’s staring at him intently, the closest to a ‘concerned’ expression this half will get.

“What’s wrong.” He growls, the voice like an interrogation, and he wants to flinch away but can't.

“I-I can’t, I…”

“Daniel.” He said, slow and even. “You listened without judgment to me tell you about very…personal things. About the biting. Being taken away. The whore mother. Refrained from condemnations and still remained a friend. Am sure I can return the favor.”

He paused. “Now. What’s wrong.”


	28. Sometimes, you just need some fatherly advice. And no one does fatherly advice better than Hollis.

“Look, you gotta start off gentle or you’ll injure yourself,” Hollis said, gently but firmly.

Walter eyed the tiny, five-pound dumbbell with a look that bordered on insulted.

“Kid, you don’t need to act tough.” He said, annoyed. “I’m not Daniel.”

Walter gave him a blank look.

“Don’t act dumb.” He glared at him. “I know the front that you put up for him, like your implacable and untouchable.”

Walter coughs and looks away, unable to hold eye contact. The silence stretches, with him still holding out the dumbbell, patiently waiting out his stubbornness.

He takes it at last, and with difficulty. His arm trembles, holding it, and he stares at the uncooperative limb with a look of surprise and despondency.

“Lost so much.” He sighs, doing curls with a good amount of effort. “Daniel he…worries. Don’t like it, it feels…”

There really isn’t a word for it, this feeling so close to guilt and shame, so he just nods along, understanding and saving him the difficulty of trying to enunciate it.

“Especially Daniel. He’s very…empathic. Feels other’s pain as his own.” He grunts with effort, trying his best to push himself. Hollis has to pluck the dumbbell from his hand to keep him from overworking himself, and speaks up to keep him from grumbling.

“Mmm, yeah. He does tend to wear his heart on his sleeve.” He says and hands the other dumbbell over so he can do the other arm.

“Nnng, don’t _mean_ to be so…obstinate, but better than the alternative.”

Hollis nods. “I know what you mean.”

Walter gives him a curious look, and he sighs. “Byron was…well, to put it bluntly, he was an alcoholic. He was pretty good at hiding it though, I didn’t know until he was really bad and he couldn’t hide it anymore. He never told me though, even if I was his best friend and partner. I guess he was ashamed of it and afraid I’d judge him for it.”

Walter chews on this, and he lets him while he sets up for crunches. It isn’t until they’ve finished one set of reps and Walter has gotten his breath back that he speaks again.

“Did you…get angry with him, when you found out?” Walter asks, very quietly.

“Yes, but with myself. I can’t help but think that if I’d known earlier, I could have done more and maybe…” He sighs.

“And maybe not.” Walter says. “You don’t know for certain.”

“No, but there’s a special kind of hell you go through when you can only wring your hands, wishing you could have done more.” Hollis shakes his head. “I wish he would have told me, even if I couldn’t do a single damn thing.”

Walter is quiet for a while. “Notice…some similarities. Between Daniel and I, and you and Byron.”

He looks up at Hollis. “Don’t…dont want to tell him about…” He chokes. “It might kill him.”

“Hearing about it is not the same as experiencing it firsthand.” He says gently. “And not telling him and keeping it bottled up inside just might end up killing an important part of you, the human part, and take Dan with it.”

He put a fatherly arm around the narrow, bony shoulders. He can feel the minute tremors in them like he’s going to shake himself to pieces but he keeps going because, dammit, he doesn’t want to bring an old man’s regrets into this but he sure as hell doesn’t want to see them repeated.

“Talking it over will be painful, I admit, and it’ll feel like you’re reliving it all over again. Byron could never tell me the reason he drank. But, talking it out will help. I’ve seen things on the force that still leave scars and keep me up at night, but I had friends that understood and I could talk to.” He sighed. “Others…werent so lucky. One of the fellows on my force just bottled it up until he snapped.”

“…What happened?”

“He decided to take up the role of judge, jury, and executioner.” He said, very quietly. “He was a cop, so he knew how to cover his tracks. It took a long time for him to be found out. All his victims deserved it, so it’s kinda hard to fault a guy who kills pedophiles, and no one’s gonna shed tears for them. But the absolute worst thing is that Matt…well. He wasn’t really Matt anymore. It’s like it scooped out everything that was Matt and left a….”

“Void.” Walter says, very quietly.

They match gazes, and it’s like a small moment of complete understand flashes between them.

“I only just barely know you, Walter.” He says, just a quietly. “But from what little I’ve seen, it would be a pity if we lost you. Don’t throw yourself away. Not for them.”

Walter swallows hard. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask for.” He gives him a little, one-armed hug. “Now, you wanna try the chin-up bar next?”

As the man guides him through the reps, he reflects on just how anxious he’d been about meeting Daniel's mentor.

He hadn’t been that nervous about meeting a new person since he was a teenager and a lot less sure of himself (gotten used to the turning away, and resigned himself to it). Normally he couldn't care less, but this is different. This is Hollis, who is in many ways more than Daniel’s mentor. He’d never admit it, but he worries about leaving a bad impression on someone with such influence on his partner and had avoided meeting the man for as long as humanly possible. He hadn’t liked turning down Daniel’s invitations; it was a mark of how highly he thought of him, to want to introduce him to his spiritual father. He felt like a heel when Daniel looked hurt at each gruff reminder that there were better things to do than kit and kibosh with the retired hero (‘scum to be swept from the streets, no time for socializing’). He tried to also ignore that he did want to actually meet him for its own sake because while his childhood favorite had been the Comedian he did have a spot in his heart for the Cop-turned-vigilante too.

Better than the alternative he supposed, like Daniels hero finding fault in him.

It was even worse that-due to current circumstances-he was in less than perfect health, physically or otherwise. He also didn’t know just how much about his situation Daniel had disclosed about his ‘illness’ or the nature of it. He’s not sure to expect long-suffering disapproval at his weakness or saccharine pity from the man.

Eventually, though, his hackles smoothed down as the man deftly circumnavigated his anxiety with a mixture of gentleness and firmness that reminded him that this man was a hero for more than his fighting prowess or how many criminals he’d taken down. Here was genuine sympathy, from a man that he only barely knew, not just on Daniel’s behalf but for the simple fact that a fellow human being was hurting and needed his help. He was left humbled and deeply grateful, and wishing he’d met him sooner. Daniel was a good man, but he was empathetic to the point he felt pain on his behalf, and he also had a certain naivety to the darker side of human nature. It was difficult to talk to him about certain things. Hollis, on the other hand, was a former cop as well as a vigilante, and had seen and done a lot. It was easier to talk to him about the murders he’d investigated, the horrible child pornography he’d burned, The stress of wanting to keep all that from his partner, to protect him from it because something in him would just die if Daniel ever did lose that intrinsic belief that people were generally good, and their job was just to stamp out rogue elements. He had trouble believing it in himself, but Daniel helped him from slipping too far into pessimism and remembering that some people were good and worth protecting.

Still, there were things he didn’t divulge, the most recent case sticking in his throat like a fishbone. Hollis doesn’t push, though. He leaves the offer of a listening ear, like a plate of food left for a stray. It’s there for the taking when needed, but he lets it be for now and helps him work through his chin-ups without comment. He helps him up the steps after his workout using the gait belt. His doctor had insisted on it and until now his pride had refused to use it, but Hollis slung it over him and maneuvered him up the steps before he could interject. He feels manipulated, but he doesn’t mind, actually. Helps him save face.

They both sit on the couch afterward. The workout hadn’t been very intense, so he’d just washed his face beforehand. He didn’t want to attempt a shower as he was still unsteady on his feet, and it would be the height of irony to survive all this and then die from a head injury after slipping in the shower. Rorschach had been helping him so far, but he was **not** going to ask Hollis to help, no chance in hell.

He picked at the remainder of the Chinese food. They’d eaten most of it beforehand, the soup had, indeed, filled him up and made him feel better(grandmother’s secret soup had done the job, Chinese or otherwise). Foreign food would never quite stack up to American food in his opinion, but it was still good. And there were fortune cookies to eat, of course. He could take or leave the superstitious rubbish of the fortune, but he always had room for dessert.

“You know,” Hollis said, offhandedly, as he unwrapped one of his own “Fortune cookies aren’t Chinese.”

“No?”

“Nahh, some enterprising restaurant owner in California made them up, trying to draw in more people.” He smiled. “They got really popular, so I guess it was a sound investment.”

Walter surprised himself with a chuckle. “American ingenuity at its finest.”

They laugh a little at that, the sound a quiet disturbance in the background blathering of the television. Hollis had turned it to some mindless game show, and the background noise and company made him feel…not happy, but it was a quieter emotion. He was content, he supposed, for the time being. A break in the unrelenting depression which still hung low over him, but for now it had abated, letting him breathe a little easier.

He carefully broke open the cookie, munching on it as he read over the fortune. Fortune cookies had the flavor of sugar-coated cardboard, but he’d eaten worse and sugar was sugar. He read the fortune as he crunched down on the cookie. _Lucky number, 42, 35, 7 Learn Chinese! Long (dragon) Fortune for today: Think of others._

He chewed a bit more and swallowed. Well, the first person he thought of was Daniel. His partner and friend. Next…person?...he thought of was Rorschach, his other half. Whether or not ‘person’ was a term that applied to him was debatable. And then Hollis, a relatively new member on a very short list of close acquaintances. The only other person he could think of…

He swallowed again, even though he’d already eaten the cookie.

He looked up, to see Hollis giving him a concerned look. “You okay kid?”

“…Thinking of someone.” He said, quietly.

“Blair?”

He gave the man a questioning look.

“Dan told me a little about the case.”

“Yes and…her parents. I…I promised them that I’d bring their little girl home.” He drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t…what do I do now, she’s…”

Hollis’ face fell, and he came over to sit next to him. “You’ll need to tell them sometime. They’ll need the closure.” He said gently. “And so do you.”


	29. Chapter 29

He _could_ just say that the stress of the last few weeks had decided to hit him all at once, and it wouldn’t even be a lie. He could do that, take whatever sympathy this side of his partner could give and move on with his life, his partner none the wiser that Dan had more than platonic feeling for him.

He could.

Problem was, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go on with this sitting in his chest, a hot, guilty lump of emotion that he was hard-pressed to give a name to. He didn’t want it to lurch in his chest and choke his words at the most inopportune times, like it was doing _right now._ Maybe he could just lay it all out and trust that Rorschach would show him the same acceptance that Dan had earlier when the guy had just laid out all of his numerous issues at his feet, essentially baring his throat to him. He could stay silent on the issue…

…Or he could _trust_.

“P-promise?” He finally stuttered out.

“Yes.” He says, immediately agreeing even if he hasn’t stated what he wants him to promise to do, which is reassuring, in a way. He takes a deep breath.

“I, uh, I’m sorry-” He grits his teeth against the apology, because Jesus he hasn’t even started and he’s already apologizing.

“For what?”

“I…I wanted to have a partner. And a friend. And you _have_ been, that is. I mean, you-well, Walter-might say things about how our, er, relationship is one-sided, like with me having to provide all the coffee and the medical supplies, and…and caring for you through this whole Blair case. I swear that it’s not, though.” Dan said, getting a little more confident as he went on. “You’ve challenged my beliefs and taught me to stand up for myself and…and hell, listened to me prattle on about aeronautics for hours.”

“I wanted you as a friend, I didn’t mean to…to start to…” And he was back to stuttering, his words being choked off again.

“Daniel,” Rorschach said, his voice softer than he’d ever heard it. “Did promise. Won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt _you_ , I-” He gave him a desperate look. “I don’t want to running off and disappearing, or cutting me off or-”

“Promise I won’t, Daniel, whatever you say.” He gave him a sidelong look. “If you can get around to saying it.”

Dan giggled, a little hysterically, but he felt slightly better. “Thanks, buddy. I just…god, I’d hate to think of what would happen to you if I wasn’t there to watch your back.”

He sucked in a breath. “Look, I just…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start to have more than, uh, just _platonic_ feelings.”

The last few words had been delivered into a whisper, like he’s tiptoeing through an avalanche area and his words could trigger a slew of condemnations. He curls in on himself and waits, because his earlier promise had just been about not cutting him off completely; that wouldn’t prevent him being disgusted or disappointed in him.

Rorschach tilted his head in the characteristic ‘curious’ pose. He may not have expressions, but Dan had learned to read his body language long before he’d seen his partners face. “Hnn, more than platonic? Am correct in assuming...homosexual feelings towards me? Hnn, not quite right. Apologizes. Not as articulate as Walter.”

Dan blinked rapidly. He wasn’t-oh, wait. He hadn’t ranted about homosexuals-or really, anything else-since the split (and he’d actually started to miss the weirdly poetic descriptions, something he thought would _never_ happen) He’d also been purely-sometimes infuriatingly-rational and dispassionate as well since he’d been divided from Walter. It dawned on him that maybe Walter had gotten all the conservative attitudes and the anger.

“You’re not…angry?”

He shook his head.

“…Oh. Well, I feel…stupid. God, I thought you’d hate me or do something drastic if I said anything.” Dan sighed. “You were never very, ah, _fond_ of gay people. Though, I guess it’s Walter that got that part.”

He grunted an assent, and Dan relaxed. “Well, I’m not actually gay, per see. I mean, I’ve always been kinda drawn towards both, although I’ve mostly been with women for obvious reasons. It’s just easier, I guess.”

“How long?”

“Oh, I don’t really remember. I’ve just always had a thing for both-”

“No, how long have had an attraction towards us.”

He thought for a while. “Well, I’ve been attracted to you ah, in the physical sense for a long time. About as long as I’ve known you. I have this really vivid memory of when I first patched you up and I noticed you have really nice…”

He looked over at Rorschach, who was listening with keen interest, and flushed. “You, ah, really have nice…arms. Um.”

He coughed, and cut himself off. He looked back at the floor, unable to keep eye contact. Next to him, Rorschach made a soft, thoughtful noise.

“Only physically attracted?”

“Well, I was-and still am-it’s just…” He sighed. “Recently I started to be attracted to more than just that you are really, uh, well built.”

“How recently?”

“Since the split,” Dan said softly. “I only ever got little glimpses of Walter before that, and when I actually got to meet the other half of you I got to learn so much more, and the more of you I got to see the more I…”

“Even learning about the home and abuse?”

“Even that, buddy.” He looked up again and gave him a tentative smile. “Only you. Only _you_ could go through all that and be stubborn enough to turn out a decent person in spite of it.”

“Hnn, have issues.”

“Well, yeah, but it’d be impossible not to with all that.”

Rorschach gave a thoughtful nod. “Had not thought of it that way.” He looked back at Dan. “Appreciate you saying that.”

“You’re welcome buddy.” He said, gushing a little, and flushed again. “I, I won’t, ah, creep on you or…I _swear_ I can keep my feelings to myself and I won’t try to do anything. We, we can still be friends.”

“Not sure if I can do the same.”

Dan swallowed, terrified. “Oh god. You…you don’t want to be friends? Anymore?”

He shook his head, and Dan felt his heart sink right down into his boots. He was frightfully sure he was actually going to cry and had difficulty keeping his voice steady.

“D-do you still want to be partners at least or what do you-” He choked, and tried again. “…Want?”

Rorschach just looked at him, a thoughtful expression on his face, infuriatingly calm. “More.”

He blinked. “…More? More what?”

He paused, apparently trying to think of a way to enunciate what he meant, and failing that, went for the more direct way of getting his point across.

It really is a pity that it’s not Walter that’s here to do this. Walter would have been better able to express himself with words, but he has always been more suited to action. He also had a feeling that Walter would have found the high pitched squeak Daniel made when he plunked himself down in Daniel’s lap to be endearing.

(He will do his best to figure out how to describe it to him later, he knows he would appreciate it.)

Right now, though, he focuses on getting a hand in his hair to hold him still so he doesn’t break his nose by accident when he leans in and tries his best to express himself through lips and tongue. He only holds loosely, because if Daniel wants to object and move away, he’ll let him. He just wants to get his point across, in the only way he knows how.

He doesn’t move away, actually, and obliges him by staying still. He pulls back to look at him, and Daniel is staring at him, slack-jawed and dazed, and he’s wondering if he’ll have to kiss him again (not that he’d mind, not in the least) but Daniel makes the decision for him, stretching up, and they’re kissing again. It isn’t long before he’s surging up into it, kissing Rorschach like he needs to breathe through his mouth. He makes a pleased noise, and he presses him down, purring when he whimpers and submits. He does eventually have to break off to breathe and apologizes for the intermission by licking Daniel’s lower lip as he gets his breath back. He wants to memorize the sharp, whining noise he makes, so he does it again.

“O-oh god, what, what are you-” The rest of what he was trying to say-if he even _knew_ what he was trying to say-stuttered and died as he made his way down his neck, thinking he might finally indulge his desire to taste the tender skin of his throat.

“Should think,” he growled, pressing his arousal against him “That was obvious.”

Dan laughs, a light and breathy sound, just a hair below ‘hysterical’ and cuts himself off with a moan when he feels it pressed against the soft skin of his lower belly. However, as much as he wants to continue (to feel him writhe and whine, and lose himself in Daniel, to forget, just for a moment) he did, after all, sound like he had a question, and this was perhaps just a bit too much too fast. He pulled away a bit, giving him space. It takes him a moment to get his breath back, but Daniel manages to speak again. “N-not that I, ah, mind but…I just wanted to know how you actually feel. I mean, no offense, but aren’t you the part more, er, in tune with your wants? You don’t really have any reservations about eating everything in the fridge, unlike Walter.”

Rorschach cocked his head, and Daniel tried his best to clarify more. “It wouldn’t be really…fair? Right? I guess, if you were okay with this but Walter wasn’t. I mean, he’s kind of got a dim view of homosexuality. I’ve heard him rant about it often enough-along with a lot of other things-but you don’t generally seem to care about anything other than enacting justice.”

He mulled that over. “Hnnn. See me as the ID and Walter as the Ego?”

“Well-yeah, actually,” Dan said, leveling a concerned look at him. “I’d hate to think I’d unintentionally took advantage.”

“Freud doesn’t quite apply.” He grunted. “Do have some level of restraint and appropriateness. Still, see what you are trying to express. Would be unethical to continue, without the consent of both parties.”

He clambers off carefully, trying not to make himself more uncomfortable than he already is. His mind is perfectly clear, but his body has other ideas, which Daniel just makes even worse. It’s difficult to miss he’s not alone in this; it’s not like the grey spandex hides much.

“Should discuss this with Walter.”

Daniel’s brow furrows. “I’m not sure if we should, at least _now._ He’s got a lot on his plate without throwing this in.”

“Hnn, true.” He pauses. “But later?”

“I don’t-” He swallowed hard. “Do you think…he’ll hate me? For feeling like…I mean, obviously _you_ are on board but-”

He doesn’t generally do humor (Walter got most of that) but he does feel something like amusement at the look on Daniel’s face, all pinched in with worry over a problem that didn’t actually exist, per say. Telling him that his worries are for naught and that Walter feels the same way is, perhaps, an honor best left to Walter though. He’s the half that’s capable of true joy (not grim satisfaction, like him) and the thought of this gilt present left untouched for him to open until he can bear the brightness of it makes him feel an unexpected sensation of tender affection for his other half, and for his partner.

Or, as tender as he gets. Which isn’t much, admittedly. Still, he makes an effort at reassuring Daniel. “Would be an easier conversation to have than you think.”

Daniel brightened. “Really? That’s reassuring.”


End file.
